A New Road
by dominicgrim
Summary: Killing the Archdemon was just the beginning. Lyna Mahariel strikes out on her own to find cure for the Calling. New allies. New Enemies. New adventure. adult content and sexual situations later, I do not own dragon age
1. Lyna

**This began in grim tales, I've decided to give it its own spot, hope you like it.**

 **DG**

 **A New Road: Lyna's Tale**

Lyna Mahariel, daughter of the Sabrae clan, Grey Warden, warrior, berserker, Hero and Warden Commander of Ferelden, Blight Queller, and a dozen other useless titles lay in the soft clover in the middle of a forest. Blue eyes that almost seemed to glow in the moonlight stared up into the star filled sky. A slight breeze rustled her long blonde hair, her pale face seemed to glow in the twilight, the triangular shaped tattoos on both her chin and forehead both pointed at her fine rounded nose.

The elf sighed, letting the sounds of the forest wash over her. For far too long she had been trapped in the shemlen world, bound by duty an honor to protect those that had destroyed her people so long ago. Once upon a time, she had been furious about that, enraged in fact. She had been dragged off to fight in a shemlen war…

Lyna took a great cleansing breath.

Now…almost three years later, she knew better.

Time had put much distance between the elven brat she had been, and the warden she had become. She had enjoyed great hardship, found both sadness and joy, love and hate. She had come to see the value of the shemlen world. Their strength and their courage had impressed her. She had made friends among them, brave friends, bold adventurers.

She pursed her lips, resisting the urge to shudder that had nothing to do with the cold.

Lyna sighed.

She had done much, saved many lives, but now…now…

Her eyes narrowed.

Now…those days were done.

She stared up into the night sky, remembering what the Hahren used to teach about the constellations, the tales that the Dalish would never forget because they were written in those stars. The humans had other names for those stars, but it was Master Paivel's stories that she still treasured.

She blinked as a single tear ran down her face.

Thinking of the past, of what had been lost; perhaps that was what had driven her to leave the life she had built among the shemlen behind.

Perhaps that was why…she knew it was time to say goodbye.

She thought of everyone she had lost, friends and enemies both. She thought of Duncan. She thought of King Cailan. She thought of Howe and Loghain. She thought of Varel, her loyal Seneschal, and the Mother and the Architect. She thought of Anders and Justice, vanished without a trace, and of poor Velanna, lost forever in the deep roads…

She thought of Tamlen...

The Dalish rose from the soft ground, a scowl darkening her features.

She had done…everything that was expected of her. She had redeemed the Grey Warden name in Ferelden. Put a new king on the throne, and ended the reign of a monstrous tainted god. At night, when she closed her eyes, she could still see the Archdemon, his black-violet scales, and its white empty eyes. She could still smell the stench of decayed flesh, and feel the heat of its black fire.

But that…that was not the worst of it.

She shook her head.

Even in this place of peace, she could still hear the song. It rang in her ears, not so loud that it would drive her mad, but just enough to remind her of the fate that would one day claim her.

She looked down at her hands, remembering the feel of the great sword in her hand, the hard stones of Fort Drakon beneath her feet.

She had slain the Archdemon, and lived, thanks to Morrigan's spells and Alistair's sacrifice. She could not help but wonder if that made her a coward. She knew that death would come if she slew the Archdemon, and so she had made a deal with the young witch of the wilds to cheat it of its prize.

Since then, she had heard the song, heard it oh so clearly. It was a part of her now, as were the flashes of memory that the Archdemon left as its spirit passed through her and into Morrigan…

…Passed into the witch's unborn child.

She tried not to think about that, what Morrigan would do with such a child. She had called the sorceress her friend, but even she didn't deny the darkness inside her.

Lyna shook her head.

Perhaps she was a fool for having let Morrigan go after their last encounter?

Perhaps the world would pay for it in the end.

After she had returned from that encounter, her life no longer seemed…as exciting as it once had been. She had gone through the motions of being warden commander. She had done what was expected of her, even as those she had come to call friends had either left or been taken from her.

Now only Oghren, Sigrun, and Nathaniel remained, good friends and allies both, and all would die by the calling, if the darkspawn did not kill them first.

Then she had thought of Alistair, her friend and more. He had taught her, shown her the beauty of his world. She had made him king, but that would not save him from the taint the wardens had left in his blood.

One day he would hear the calling too, on that day he would travel to Orzammar and from there the deep roads. He would die, slain by the same filth they had fought during the Blight. He would die driven half mad by the song in his head.

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

She would be damned before she let that happen.

IOI

After Morrigan, she had called her lords together. As Commander of the Grey, she also served as Arlessa of Amaranthine…

It was time, to let that title go.

She formally relieved herself of command, passing it on to her friend Nathaniel.

The look on his face, she thought with a slight smile, was priceless.

That night she had summoned him to her quarters. He had likely had no idea the reason, by the time he arrived, he knew.

She had given him a sad smile, the black leather armor she wore was not the one she had worn as commander, but the suit she had used during the Blight.

It made sense to wear it again now. Now that she was done. She donned her travelling cloak and quiver. Her Dalish ax and dagger slid into their sheaths at her belt.

"Commander," he had said.

"What is going on?"

"I'm leaving," she answered, "Goodbye Nate."

He had stepped before her, blocking her path.

"What do you mean you are leaving?" he said, "You're still a warden, even if you are not commander anymore."

She shook her head.

"I'm not deserting the order if that is what you are wondering," she said wanly, "Think of this, as an extended recruiting trip. Any good recruits I come across will find their way to the warden garrisons in my travels, but my time living this life is over."

She shook her head.

"I need to leave," she sighed, "I may never see Ferelden again, perhaps I may even mean not to."

Her confession had taken her fellow warden by surprise; still they had become friends in the last year or so.

He knew better than to question her. He lowered his head slightly.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"North," she said, "At least for the time being, then…maybe west. I have not truly decided."

She picked up her old travelling pack, the one given to her by Duncan so long ago. She slung it over her arm.

"I need to find something," she said, "And I can't find it here."

"What are you seeking? Maybe we can help."

She shook her head no.

"These are questions I must answer on my own."

Nathaniel snorted and turned away, pacing angrily.

Lyna had not wanted to anger her friend. Despite what others might have thought, she did consider him not just as an ally, but as part of her, part of her clan.

That thought almost made her give up her quest right then and there.

Did she really want to lose her clan, again?

She steeled her heart.

This time was different.

This time, it was her choice.

"You would leave everything behind, just to answer a question?"

She nodded.

"What question could possibly be so important?"

She almost laughed when he said that.

A bratty young warden had asked that same question of a Qunari Sten years ago.

Nathaniel would get no more answers out of her than she had out of him.

The new warden commander sighed.

"You will do this alone?" he said.

She shrugged.

"I'll take Arrow with me."

Nathaniel snorted.

"You and a Mabari pup against the entire world."

She chuckled.

"You can feel sorry for the world if you like."

He gave her an icy look.

She coughed.

Perhaps humor was not what was called for right now.

She shook her head.

"If I need to, I will find people along the way."

Nathaniel sighed.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Why do this now?"

She sighed.

"Because the world is changing," she replied, "I can feel it. It…it is going to change everything. Even the wardens will not be able to escape it."

She gave him a sad smile.

"We are going to need more than what we have now. If I succeed, maybe the wardens will all benefit."

Her ears lowered slightly.

"If I fail, then I will die, only me. My body will die, but what I did here, what we built here. That will live on."

She smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I should have died when I killed the Archdemon. I know that, now I have to make up for the fact that I cheated death."

She placed both her hands on his shoulders.

"I need you to accept this, make sure the others accept it too…"

Her expression turned serious, deadly serious.

"Do not look for me; do not try to follow me. My time here is done."

She smiled and ruffled his hair, mainly because she knew it annoyed him.

He grumbled even as she smirked at him.

"Your time is just beginning. I have given you a strong keep and a strong order to lead."

"Take care of them for me."

She embraced him then. A man that had come to this place to kill her, and now ruled it with her blessing. Such an amazing turn of events that…

She hoped he would not waste it.

"Is there no way I can talk you out of this?" he asked.

"None," she answered.

"Then Maker watch over you Lyna of the Grey Wardens."

She almost sobbed.

"May your god watch over you as well, my friend, Dareth shiral."

She tightened her grip on him, wanting to remember this hug, and knowing that it would be the last one they would share.

"Dareth shiral."

IOI

Lyna glanced around her tiny camp. It had been two days since she had left the Vigil.

The journey had been a lonely one. Arrow, her loyal Mabari did his best to keep her cheered, but even his antics could only amuse her for so long.

Lyna sighed.

Arrow had been sired by her original warhound. He had perished during the final battle atop Fort Drakon. He had been able to sire only a single litter in the Redcliffe kennels.

She gave the dog a sad smile.

His sire would be proud of him. He had proven himself many times in protecting his mistress. Now they were walking into the unknown together.

She hoped they would both be ready.

 _Snap!_

She was on her feet in a heartbeat, bow in hand, arrow nocked. Beside her arrow growled into the darkness.

The Dalish's eyes narrowed, her superior night vision allowed her to see deep into the shadows.

She scanned the trees around her camp, and strangely enough…found nothing.

Arrow growled and gave one last warning bark; he looked up at his mistress even as she lowered her bow.

She smiled and gave him a gentle pat upon the head.

"Getting jumpy these days lethallin," she cooed.

The dog nuzzled her side.

She giggled and pushed him away…

…Turning one last time to look out into the darkness.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She could not shake the feeling that they were still being watched.

If it was an animal it would likely seek to avoid her fire. If it was not…?

Well…things might get a little interesting before dawn.

She glanced around one last time, before lying back down on the soft ground.

Arrow whined at her.

"It is okay," she cooed, "I'm just going to sleep for an hour or two.

She smiled.

"Bark if you see anything."

The dog sat down on his haunches, he peered out into the night. A better watchman she could not have found.

She rested her head on her arm, trying to get comfortable.

Whatever was out there, if anything was out there, it would do no good chasing after it in the dark.

Before the wardens, she might have rushed head long into the darkness, but now she had learned patience.

What was out there would reveal itself soon enough.

Let it come, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

"I am ready."

 **A/N: Lyna's journey is** _ **not**_ **over. Nathaniel was right, she shouldn't stand alone, and she will not be. New friends will find their way into her circle. If you want to hear more of this story shoot me a review.**

 **Until next time, dear readers!**

 **DG**


	2. The Thief and the Warrior

**A New Road: The Thief and the Warrior**

It was just before dawn when the sound of battle woke Lyna from her troubled sleep.

As always the darkspawn reached out for her sleeping mind, their claws and fangs ripping at her night time world, and as always the echo that was once the will of the Archdemon slithered through her soul, making any true rest impossible.

The clash of steel and raised voices brought her back to the waking world, her ax and dagger in hand she sprang to her feet, grateful that she had spent the night wearing her armor.

Arrow who had been watching since she had woke him from his nap a few hours ago sprang after his mistress. His lips pulled back in a harsh snarl, ready to face whatever this threat might hold.

Lyna slowed as they drew closer to the sound, if the numbers were too great she could likely be able to slip away before she was noticed.

She was no fool when it came to battle, even with Arrow at her side, she would not bumble blindly into a fight she could not win.

Her ears twitched as she finally drew close enough to make out the voices.

"You would prey on innocents, thief?!"

"I'm not a fan of prayer, friend. Though if you are interested in prayer, I'm sure some chantry wench could help you."

"Do not play the fool with me. You were stalking the Arlessa! I will see that you answer for that!"

Lyna's ears twitched.

 _Stalking the Arlessa?_

She adapted her hunter's tread, trading her blades for her bow.

Arrow slowed as well, awaiting his mistress' command.

The warden's eyes narrowed.

She would see what all this ruckus was about.

IOI

Royce stood with his blade at the ready. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the sodding miscreant that had been tracking the Arlessa.

The warrior sneered grimly.

One more step and he would remove the thieving dwarf's head.

The world would be a better place with it off.

His quarry was hardly symbolic of his noble race. All the dwarves that Royce had met during his life were respectful, businessmen or smiths. This one was none of these things.

Twice had this one been brought before the Magistrate in Amaranthine. The first time he had been sentenced to a work gang near the Hinterlands. He had apparently escaped a week later. The second time, he had been sent to the city dungeon. He had escaped three days after that.

The warrior frowned.

He would be damned if there was a third time that this outlaw escaped.

The dwarf beardless with short curly red hair with a scarred and beardless face smiled at him, his teeth unusually white for a common lowlife.

"Listen here guardsman," he said, "I'm certain we can come to some kind of understanding here."

His smile widened.

"After all, I have done nothing..."

Royce glared at him.

"Lately," he added quickly.

The warrior was hearing none of it.

"I may no longer be a city guardsman," he snarled, "But I still recognize a troublemaker when I see one."

He began to advance on his quarry. The dwarf raised his small ax and dagger.

"You are done here," the warrior spat.

Then he charged.

The dwarf back pedaled raising his weapons.

He hadn't needed to.

IOI

An arrow struck the blade of Royce's sword spoiling his aim.

The dwarf lunged, seeking to take advantage.

Another arrow knocked the ax from his hand.

Both men spun.

A third arrow landed between the two of them, making them both jump back.

"ENOUGH!" a cold commanding voice ordered.

They both froze.

Lyna stood before them, another arrow nocked and ready.

Arrow stood at her side growling ready to leap on either of the foes if they chose to move towards his mistress.

The Dalish warden glared at the two men, different as night and day they were.

"The warrior with his long hair and beard was every bit the Ferelden soldier. His armor dented, but well cared for. The dwarf with the scared face and hands wore pieced together leathers. The mismatched dagger and ax suggested that he was no soldier.

Still Lyna did not relax her aim.

She had been in Dust town; Orzammar's fringes were as dangerous as their warrior caste if provoked.

She had no desire to get a blade in the back.

"Andaran atish'an gentlemen," she called out with a smirk, "Now that I have your attention, maybe you can tell me what is going on out here!"

The dwarf watched her wearily, her and arrow both, he glanced down at his dagger, weighing his options.

Arrow bared his fangs at the man.

The warrior surprised her.

He lowered his weapon and dropped to one knee.

"Arlessa," he said bowing his head, "Praise the Maker I reached you in time!"

Lyna's elven ears twitched with surprise, but she did not lower her weapon.

Her bright blue eyes narrowed.

"Are you from the Vigil soldier?" she demanded.

"No Arlessa, but I was on my way there when I spotted you on the road, Your Grace," he replied.

He glanced up at her.

"My name is Royce, formerly of the Amaranthine guard."

He glanced over at the dwarf, a look of distaste on his face.

"I spotted this waste of space trailing you," he said.

The dwarf stood a little straighter.

"I resent that description, ser!"

"Silence thief," the warrior spat."

Lyna rolled her eyes.

"Both of you **be silent** ," she ordered.

The two men fell silent.

She once again turned to the warrior.

"Why were you on your way to the Vigil?"

The man sighed.

"I wished to join the garrison there," he confessed, "We have met before, though you likely don't remember me. When…when I saw you leaving, seeing you leave with no guards, I…I thought that I could offer my blade for your safety, Arlessa."

She snorted.

"I am no longer the Arlessa," she said, "I am merely a warden gone travelling."

She turned to the dwarf.

"So," she said, "What is your story?"

The dwarf smirked.

"My name is Bok, Milady," he said with a courtly bow, "Businessman and gentleman of the road."

The warrior sniffed.

"He is a common highwayman, Arlessa."

Bok sniffed at that.

"A highwayman I may be," he admitted, "But I'm hardly common."

She turned to the warrior.

"Is that true, Ser Royce?"

"It is true, Arlessa," he said, "This man has passed through the Magistrate's court several times in the past. For trying to attack a warden, he will be beheaded this time."

"I was not trying to attack anyone," he responded, "Did I notice the young lady, yes. Was I planning to rob her, no?"

Lyna frowned.

"Then why were you following me?"

He gave her a sly smile.

"You are well armed and armored," he said, "I assumed you some mercenary. I was following in a hope that you might lead you to a gathering of such people."

"You insult the Arlessa churl!" Royce snarled.

"I'm not insulted," Lyna said, "Stay your anger, Ser Royce."

The warrior sighed and said nothing more.

She returned her attention to the dwarf.

"Finish your story Messere Bok."

The dwarf shrugged.

"I've worn out my welcome here in Amaranthine," he said, "I'm looking for new places to apply my trade."

"I was hoping you might lead me to someone who might need my services."

Lyna paused, thinking.

"What skills do you possess?" she inquired.

The dwarf smiled.

"I'm skilled at the noble art of lock picking," he replied, "I also know my way around a poison vial. "I'm not bad with an ax and a dagger in a fight either."

He started to edge toward his fallen weapon.

Arrow growled.

He stopped.

The dwarf laughed nervously.

"Your dog is not going to eat me, is he?"

Lyna smirked.

"He might," she replied, he hasn't had his breakfast yet."

Arrow licked his chops.

Bok swallowed hard.

She turned back to Royce.

"Why were you seeking to join the garrison at the Vigil?"

The warrior sighed.

"I spent my whole life in Amaranthine Arlessa," he said, "My father was a guard, as was his father before him."

The man sighed.

"I lost my son and daughter when the darkspawn raided our city."

Lyna winced.

More lives I failed to save, she thought.

"I'm sorry," she cooed.

The man shrugged.

"It was not you," he said, "You saved our city. It was the darkspawn that killed my babes, and you killed them."

He shook his head.

"My wife died of the fever a week ago. I have _nothing_ holding me in Amaranthine now."

He gave her a determined look.

"I can't stay here anymore. Too many memories haunt me."

He gave her a hopeful look.

"I hoped to find a new life in the Vigil. In your service, my Arlessa."

Lyna nodded.

She considered her options.

The Vigil was only two days away. She and Royce could take Bok back there. She could introduce Royce to Nathaniel. She had no desire to see him subject himself to the joining, but the Vigil always needed good soldiers.

Bok could be offered the warden life she supposed. If he survived the joining he could be…

She paused.

Then she would be delivering Bok to the taint, sentencing him to die of the Calling.

She shook her head.

No, she would not do that.

Of course, there was more than one path in this world.

Perhaps the Creators had smiled on her this morning.

She lowered her bow.

She turned to Royce.

"I'm no longer your Arlessa," she said, "But I do find myself in need of skilled help."

She glanced at the distant horizon.

"I'm leaving Ferelden," she confessed, "On a mission of great importance."

"What is it you seek?" Royce asked.

She smiled enigmatically.

"The future, I hope."

She put her weapons away.

"I only ask for people to travel with me as far as they are willing. This is not a matter of conscription, but if I succeed, the wardens…perhaps all of the Thedas will be a better place because of it."

Royce nodded; she could already see the man considering what she was saying.

"What is the pay?"

They both glanced at Bok."

He raised his hands in submission.

"I'm just asking; going on a quest like this, there is sure to be rewards to be claimed, no?"

Lyna sighed.

She had not expected allies to work for free, but having a few true believers along would have been nice.

Elven ears twitched.

"A full share of any treasure we find," she promised, "That and you may trade any armor and weapons you scavenge yourself."

The dwarf's smile brightened.

"Deal," he said, "I'm in."

Royce's eyes widened in shock.

"Arlessa," he gasped.

"Ser Royce," she said silencing, "As I have said, I'm not your Arlessa, or your commander."

She shook her head.

"I'm just Lyna now."

The warrior rose, still shaking his head, but he did sheath his sword.

The Dalish took that as a good sign.

He glared down at the grinning dwarf.

"If you think I'm going to let you go off this noble woman all alone you are sadly mistaken dwarf!"

Bok chuckled.

"I don't make a habit of betraying the people who offer to watch my back," he said scooping up his ax, but only after Arrow relaxed his battle stance.

Royce shook his head.

He glanced up at that warden.

"If you will have me, Milady," he said, "I'm with you."

Lyna's smile widened.

"I suspected that I might need help on this journey," she said, "I just did not think that I would find it so soon."

She lowered her weapons and motioned for the two men to follow her.

"My camp is this way," she said, "You can both warm yourselves by the fire."

She led them out of the clearing. Bok and Royce followed her, walking side by side.

The dwarf sneered up at the warrior.

"I'm sure it will be interesting working with you Ser knight," he said.

Royce sneered.

"I'll be watching you dwarf," he said, "At the first hint of treachery…"

Bok laughed dismissively.

"I know. I know. Cut off my head, put it on a pike, all that fun stuff."

He took a deep cleansing breath.

"Fear not human," he said, "Living is too much fun to be tossed away so recklessly. I mean just look up there, the sky is blue, and the sun is shining.

He smirked.

"I like living."

Royce sighed and shook his head.

"Maker help us all," he murmured.

"Andraste guide us."


	3. The Dirth

**The Dirth**

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when Lyna and her allies stepped out of the forests of Orlais…

…When they stepped out onto the Exalted Plains.

The Dalish woman's ears twitched.

She had spent most of her childhood wandering the wilderness of Ferelden. The clan had only left once, to attend the Arlathvhen, but she had been very young then…

Now…seeing Orlais as an adult…

The mere thought brought a shiver down her spine.

She loved the dawn, always had, but seeing the sun rise on the ruined structures of the fallen Elvhen kingdom, seeing shemlen farms and fields of grain dot the plains, the same plains where the last army of the Dales had fallen so long ago…

She…she did not know how to feel.

The Orlesians that had settled here after the war were not her enemies. They were simple people simply trying to live their lives. The shemlen chantry had called for the Exalted March that had destroyed her people's home…

Yet, those humans were long dead, did she have the right to hate those who came after them. Velanna might have said yes, she had often called the chantry a tyrannical empire, but it was not that simple.

The warden shook her head.

Perhaps it was too early to ponder such deep thoughts. Besides she had not come here to avenge Dalish honor.

She was here to save the wardens, her new clan.

Bok, Royce, and Arrow stood just behind her. She was surprised that her new allies had stayed with her this long. The journey out of Ferelden had been quiet for the most part. Few bandits would trouble three well-armed individuals and a Mabari warhound. They had taken the old mountain path from Redcliffe into Orlais.

The border guards had been surprised to see such a…unusual group wishing to cross over into their empire. Lyna probably could have taken one of the old Dalish paths, but the last few years of public life had gotten her used to at least acknowledging proper channels.

She was about to enter the Orlais. There was no point in making enemies first thing by trying to sneak into their homeland.

Alistair had provided her with transit papers. The Orlesian knights at the border were no doubt surprised to see a Dalish carrying documents signed by the King of Ferelden himself. She could have played the warden card, but she still hoped to keep her mission private for now.

The Calling was kept secret from the new recruits for a reason; she could not let it become common knowledge. The order still needed wardens to fight the darkspawn.

She had no desire to hurt the order that had so defined her these last few years.

Royce, like any born Fereldan had sneered at the fancy Chevaliers. The occupation of Ferelden by Orlais may have ended thirty years ago but that did not mean that it was forgiven. Bok kept his head down as they passed the border guards. The dwarf did not think he had any outstanding warrants against him in the empire, but he felt it was better not to take chances.

Once they had cleared the border Lyna led them into the wild. She preferred the cover of the forest to the open road. Neither of her companions complained about this. Royce looked at their presence here as stepping into enemy territory. Bow was…well Bok was Bok.

It was during their first night in Orlais that Bok had finally brought up the question Lyna had dreaded, it was a question she had answered far too often over the years…

"So friend Lyna," he had said with a cheery smile, "How does one become the Hero of Ferelden?"

The Dalish had rolled her eyes.

 _Mythal protect her._

 _She should have known that would come up sooner or later._

Royce had snorted at the dwarf's question.

"You can't tell me you have never heard the Tale of the Warden, dwarf?"

Bok had shrugged.

"I have heard many tales in my travels," he said, "Many grand and greatly embellished tales."

He gave their leader a warm smile.

"I find it more informative to get the truth directly from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

Lyna glared at him, but there was little heat in it.

Finally she sighed.

Better to feed his curiosity now, she thought.

It would save her from listening to him nagging her about it later.

"So master dwarf," she began, "Do you want to hear the shemlen version, or the truth?"

The dwarf chuckled.

"Both if you're willing, my dear," he said, "better to make my own judgments with all the facts in hand, don't you agree?"

Again she sighed.

 _Elgar'nan,_ she thought with a shake of her head.

 _So be it._

The Dalish began

"According to the Chantry," she began, "The shemlen Maker needed a champion to battle the Blight. In his mercy and generosity, he chose a common Dalish hunter, me, a sign that the wandering elves were still his children despite their ignorance."

Lyna shook her head.

"According to the shem priests, the Maker blessed this lone elvhen girl, elevated her despite the fact that she was a heathen. He gave her the strength, wisdom, and skill to gather a great army, and with his aid save the country of Ferelden from a pointless civil war and thus bring an end to the Blight, a Blight that was the shortest in history, or so I have been told."

Lyna sneered.

"That is what the shemlen priests say."

Bok chuckled.

Royce said nothing, choosing to focus on servicing his great sword.

"And the truth?" the dwarf said.

Lyna's elven ears lowered slightly.

"The truth is not so grand," she said.

"The truth is I became a grey warden because of my own stupidity. In my arrogance and desire to find something of use for my clan, I stumbled into something that cost me everything I ever loved. My clan, the life I knew, it was all gone in a heartbeat, and all because I was too rash."

Royce stopped cleaning his sword; he gave her a confused look.

She gave him a wan smile.

"I do not want or need pity," she replied, "What is done is done. It took a long time but I finally managed to come to terms with what happened. It wasn't easy, and in my weak moments I still get pissed about what happened, I still lament my fate. Yet, in spite of it all, I even managed to make a life for myself among the wardens. I found a new purpose, a new clan."

Royce brow furrowed.

"But you left them, Arlessa? If you accepted what you have become…?"

She snorted.

"It is because I accepted my fate that I'm here," she responded, "My status as a hero means that I may be able to go places that no other warden can. I might just be able to find the answers I seek…"

She sighed again.

"And please stop calling me Arlessa; I'm not some sodding noble."

Bok chuckled at that.

"So you never sought to be a hero?" he inquired.

Lyna's ears twitched again.

"I wanted to live my life. I wanted to be a part of my clan. I wanted…"

She pursed her lips.

"I…I wanted to simply be."

Lyna almost cursed. She had almost mentioned Tamlen. She was not ashamed of her feelings for her old friend; it was simply something she chose to keep private. What they had shared, who they had been, and how he had finally died.

The mere thought made her shudder.

Never had she spoken of Tamlen, only Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana had ever heard the full story.

That was how she preferred.

Thedas could have her, but she would be damned if she would let them have Tamlen.

He was hers, and always would be.

She would be their hero, but she would have something for herself.

They owed her that much.

IOI

The four of them made their way across the plains, in the distance an elven fortress rose up from a small island. As they came over another rolling hill they spotted a small settlement on the water, barely big enough to be called a village really, just a small hamlet that had grown up near the bridge to provide services for the Orlesian soldiers.

Lyna's elven ears twitched, she considered how best to proceed.

If there was a tavern down there, it would likely be a good place to pick up any local gossip. It would also be a good place to resupply before striking out for Val Royeaux.

At first she had thought to avoid the shemlen city, but during her studies at the Vigil she had learned the name of a scholar who had collected everything he could on the previous Blights, even things that were not commonly known.

Such a man would be useful as she started he search. She did not expect to find the cure to the Calling in his many records, but there was a chance that he might be able to point her to where she might search next.

Orlesian scholar she had been told liked to horde such knowledge like a miser did treasure.

Surely such a person would be willing to speak to the elf that had ended the Blight.

She glanced at her companions, and gave them a small smile.

"Anyone feel like getting a drink?" she asked.

Both men smiled.

Arrow barked and wagged his stubby tail.

Lyna chuckled.

It seemed like the vote was unanimous.

IOI

The Tavern was quite busy by the time they managed to get inside.

Farmers, traders, and masked soldiers glanced up at the four travelers. Their leathers and armor was not what might be called the height of Orlesian fashion.

Bok smirked at Lyna.

"Stop me if you heard this one," he said, "An elf, a human, and a dwarf walk into an Orlesian tavern."

Both Lyna and Royce glared at him.

The dwarf raised his hands.

"Sorry," he said, "Kidding, joke, Ha Ha, just trying to lighten the mood."

Lyna rolled her eyes and made for one of the few empty tables. Royce and Arrow followed on her heels.

Bok shook his head.

"She should have let me finish," he said, "The human is the only one who comes out sounding like an ass."

Grumbling, the dwarf joined his companions.

For the most part the crowd returned to their business, forgetting the newcomers' presence.

Perhaps that was for the best.

A human waitress made her way up to them; she took their orders, but looked uncomfortable when she saw Lyna's tattoos.

The elf pursed her lips.

She had not heard of the clans causing any trouble here, but it was always possible.

The clans, she knew, called this place Dirthavaren, the promise. Only the humans referred to this as the Exalted Plains.

She shook her head.

She tried not to think about all the elvhen knights that died here. It was on this very sight that the defeated elven army made one final stand. They stood, and died to the last.

Lyna sighed.

Most would ask why the elves had not surrendered. To any who asked that question, she would answer: Would you surrender knowing you faced execution or possible enslavement?

No, she did not blame those elves, not one bit.

They had died free, but in the end their sacrifice had not aided their people.

It was tragic.

Royce glanced around nervously. The warrior could no doubt sense the tension in the room.

"Have we done something wrong?" he asked.

Bok snorted and pulled a book out of his pack. From his belt he drew a device Lyna had never seen before, two lenses of glass held together by gold wire.

Spectacles he called them.

He slipped them on the end of his nose and began to read.

Lyna tilted her head curiously.

He smirked.

"Small print hurts my eyes," he informed her.

Lyna shrugged.

Fair enough, she thought.

Bok was a bit of surprise, she thought, she had known dwarven criminals in her time, most had been glorified thugs, all blade but little brain. Bok wasn't like that. He could read and write, and she had been surprised when they had reached the border that he had addressed the Chevaliers in their own tongue.

"Where did you learn to speak, Orlesian?" Royce had asked him.

The dwarf shrugged.

"I was not born a gentleman of the road, friend Royce."

The warrior had shrugged.

The drinks came soon enough, Lyna savored the taste of the honey meade. She had developed a taste for the human liquor during her first trip to Orzammar. Tapsters Tavern had kept a small barrel for human traders. It wasn't Dalish spring wine, but it would do.

As the last of the sun's light faded the farmers and merchants left. The off duty soldiers either returned to the fort, or went in search of entertainment elsewhere.

Those patrons that remained…were of a…less than savory nature.

Lyna glanced up from her drink, she tried to be subtle, but she did a quick check of the room.

Her ears lowered slightly.

She counted no less than four rather…rough looking, well-armed, shems watching her. They were all scarred and dirty not the kind of people who would simply say good day to you as you passed them on the road.

Her heart quickened, as it always did before battle. She thought that Royce and Bok might not have picked up on the danger, but a glance their way showed that that was not true.

The dwarf was still reading, but he held his book with one hand, the other drifted to the dagger at his belt.

Royce clenched and unclenched his fists, his great sword would not be the best weapon for such close quarters, but he had held his own in more than one bar fight over the years.

Three more shems entered the tavern, they joined the four watching Lyna and her allies. The state of their arms and weapons suggested that they were members of the same group, mercenaries perhaps…

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

…Or bounty hunters.

Royce stood up, slipping off his cloak; his eyes went to the window, the dim light of the tavern allowed him to look outside.

Four more similarly dressed men were standing by a group of horses out in the street.

The Fereldan frowned and sat back down.

He looked at Lyna.

"We might be in trouble," he said.

The elf's hand drifted to the ax on her belt. Part of her wished that she had not chosen to leave her longswords at camp. The ax and dagger was good, but when it came to carnage…

…nothing beat a pair of longswords.

Bok leaned back in his chair.

"You seem to have another admirer, Lyna he said, the man in the green cloak behind me has done nothing but stare at you since we entered.

Lyna shifted her head, pretending to stretch her neck, she noticed the man in green behind the dwarf, how he had seen him, she did not know.

Green tunic, splint mail vest, green leggings, she could see the longsword on the man's belt, as well as the quiver of arrows on his back. At his feet lounged a great gray wolf.

The beast panted contently, but that did not mean anything.

Arrow seemed relaxed at her feet, but she knew from experience how quickly the Mabari could be up and ready to fight.

One of the human thugs said something to the bartender; he called for the serving girl and motioned for her to follow him in back.

As soon as they had left, it began…

The seven humans rose from their seats. The man in green also stood.

His hand dipped into a pouch on his belt.

Lyna tensed.

 _Here we go,_ she thought.


	4. Questions

**Chapter 4: Questions**

" _ **DIANA A INAN!"**_

Lyna's ears twitched as the man in green shouted those words. Her blue eyes widened.

 _She…she could not believe it!_

 _A shem that_ _ **knew**_ _the language of the people!_

" _Shut your eyes,"_ he had said.

The fact that he knew their language was not as important as to what those words meant; the scruffy looking mercenaries clearly did not know what he had said.

 _Good for them_ , she supposed.

So shocked was she to hear them that she almost didn't obey. The emerald clad figure raised a small glass ball out of a pouch on his belt. He held it over head, and threw it hard to the tavern floor.

The Dalish woman only had seconds.

" **Look away,"** she shouted to her companions, even as she dropped down to shield Arrow with her cloak.

The glass ball struck the floor…

…and chaos came in the form of a blinding white blast of light!

So bright was the flash that even with her eyes shut tight, even with the cloak shielding her face, the blinding flash still left her seeing stars.

Screams of surprise and curses of anger rang out from there would be attackers. Lyna briefly wondered if Bok or Royce made it through okay, and they not obeyed her…

…they would likely not be much help in the next few minutes, but considering what they were facing. Now was not the time for worry.

Now…was the time for action!

She threw her cloak away, and stood, ax and dagger in hand. Her eyes still watered from the flash but the mercenaries were in complete disarray.

" **NOW!"** she shouted.

" **ATTACK!"**

At her words, Arrow lunged taking a large balding mercenary by the throat. Lyna launched herself forward catching a second by the neck with her ax. Behind her, her companions laid into the rest of their opponents. Their quick strike left the battle even in the numbers department.

Five versus five, or perhaps it was six versus five after all, or maybe seven.

The man in green had come to their defense, he drew his long sword and after taking out an opponent made for the door, the mercenaries outside were now trying to rush in to aid their comrades.

Thanks to their mysterious ally and his wolf, none managed to make it into the tavern.

Royce had already downed another mercenary, his fists doing more damage than his greatsword could have done in such close quarters. Bok had also finished off his opponent and was now going to aid their rescuer at the door.

Lyna moved to join them.

The Dalish warden slammed into the nearest opponent, all the air rushed out of him as he ended up on the streets.

The two of them met blade upon blade.

The man had some skill, but against someone who had crossed blades with demons, darkspawn, and even a mad nobleman or two…

Her enemy was no match.

Now that she was out in the open Lyna was free to let loose. She called on her anger as Oghren had taught her during the Blight. She summoned what was called the dwarven battle wrath, the power of the berserker.

That power left most enemies unmatched.

The man she was fighting snarled.

"You were worth more alive Knife-ear," he spat, "Guess we will just have to settle for dead!"

Lyna only half heard him, such was the power of the rage, but she heard enough.

Bounty hunters then?

Good.

The world turned blood red, her heart pounded in her ears.

She glared hatefully at her opponent.

"Dead men have no need for coin, Shem'alas," she snarled.

He caught her a glancing blow on the arm but that only further enraged her. She pushed him back and back…

Finally, her weapons got through his defenses.

Her ax took the man's head.

The rage continued to build; she whirled looking for another opponent…

The street was now cleared. She caught the shape of two fleeing mercenaries. The thought of pursuit came to mind, but was quickly rejected.

 _Let them run,_ she thought with a cruel smile.

… _A good lesson to whoever else might try and come after us._

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, ending the rage that had made her immune to pain moments before, the cut in her arm throbbed, but it did not appear too deep.

Her companions emerged from the tavern, even as the first of the townsfolk emerged from their homes.

The carnage had been brief but brutal.

Lyna wiped off her ax on the cloak of one of the dead mercenaries. Shouts for aid were going up around the village. The warden debated flight, but considering the closeness of a military garrison she decided against it.

She thought she could see soldiers already emerging from the fort across the lake.

She sheathed her weapons.

She would do what Varel had taught her.

She would be… _diplomatic._

It would throw the shem soldiers off guard.

She looked at the man in green, who now stood beside Bok. He was breathing heavy. His hood had fallen during the fight, revealing a man about her age with sandy blonde hair, large green eyes, and a short goatee. The slenderness of his frame seemed strange for a human, but did not take away from the strength she had seen in the Tavern.

He smiled slightly at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded.

She was about to ask him his name when the first soldiers arrived arms at the ready.

She took a deep breath.

It was time to be…diplomatic.

IOI

The group spent the next hour being interrogated by the General from the Citadelle Corbeau. The chevaliers had arrived to find the fight over, but that did not mean that the people in charge still did not demand answers.

Blood had been spilled, and the populace terrified.

Those two facts alone ensure that the Dalish warden and her companions would not pass unquestioned.

Lyna held her tongue for the most part. Listening to the nobles of Amaranthine drone on for hours at a time had finally taught her the patience that Keeper Marethari had expected her as the daughter of her predecessor. Keeper Mahariel had died before she was born, but even in death he had cast a very long shadow.

Lyna's ears twitched.

Marethari had never said it, but she thought that the woman had wished that Lyna had inherited her father's gift of magic. If she had, she might have been first and not Merrill.

Thinking of the Dalish First brought a slight sneer to her lips.

Merrill had never liked her; she had always been so cold, so dutiful, and so perfect. She had always thought that Lyna was wasting her life and her potential. Perhaps she had known that Marethari would have preferred her as an apprentice as well, it was a plausible explanation why the two Dalish women had never gotten along…

…then again, Merrill might just have been a complete and utter bitch.

That was a plausible explanation too.

She tried to push all thoughts of Merrill out of her mind. The past was in the past. Now she had to deal with the presence.

Namely this fancy painted Orlesian who called himself a general.

She gave him a helpful smile, and promised to answer all his questions.

The man's brow had furrowed, and he had begun.

"Who are you?"

"A Grey Warden."

The general's brow had furrowed at that. Perhaps he did not believe that an elven woman could be a Grey Warden.

She would happily change his mind if he gave her the chance.

"Do most people go around claiming to be wardens when they not?" she had asked.

The man shook his head, with the quick end to the Blight few would be brave enough to step on the wardens' coat tails. Surely the general knew that.

Sighing the man continued.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm on my way to Val Royeaux, a special mission for the order."

"Who are your companions?"

"Possible recruits; I'm testing them before sending them on to the Garrison in Mont Simmard."

The General's eyes narrowed.

"A Fereldan and a dwarf," he said questioningly.

Lyna smiled.

"I suspect I will add a Chevalier or two by the time I leave Val Royeaux."

If the man disputed her choices, he did not show it.

Instead, he continued with the questioning.

"Who were the men who attacked you?"

"I do not know."

"You don't know or can't say?"

"I don't know," she repeated, "If they were after gold they were wasting their time. I have little except what the order has given me for expenses."

The man snorted at that.

"What do you know of Kierhen Delamont?"

"Never heard of him."

"He is the half-breed that came to your aid, the Ranger."

She digested that. So, the young man was a thin blood, she had met a few in her travels. One parent was elvhen another human. The result was always a human child, but a few did maintain some elven characteristics. Slender bodies, big eyes…it was a shame that they did not inherit pointed ears as well, they might be more accepted by their elven peers.

And a Ranger too, she thought.

 _Interesting._

"Ah," Lyna said with a slight smile.

"I had not gotten the chance to ask his name."

The grilling continued for quite a while. The General had seen the carnage she had caused in the tavern. Even if she did not believe her a grey warden, it was unlikely that he would do anything about what had happened.

They had been attacked, and they had defended themselves. No innocents had been hurt, and only minor damage had been done to the tavern, a few broken chairs, and a table, oh and few broken bottles of alcohol.

Lyna offered five gold sovereigns to the bar keep for his trouble. More than enough to effect repairs, and also a large enough bribe that he would not consider pressing charges.

In the end, the General let her go, provided that she promise to leave their village and never return.

Lyna accepted that sentence. It was unlikely that her journey would bring her back this way again. Places like this would not likely be home to the cure for the Calling.

So, they returned her weapons and sent her on her way. Royce, Bok and Arrow were waiting in the courtyard by the time she arrived. The man in green, Kierhen was also there. The Orlesian soldiers gave him a wide birth.

She smiled at their rescuer.

"We have been released," she informed her companions, "Though we have been ordered to leave the premises, and to cause no more trouble."

Bok chuckled at that.

"Story of my life, my dear warden."

She nodded and returned her attention to the man in green.

"Mas Serannas," she said with a slight bow.

The Ranger returned the bow.

"You are welcome, but we should be away from this place and soon."

He looked around.

"More hunters will no doubt be on their way."

Lyna eyes narrowed.

"How do you know this," she asked, "What is going on?"

"Better that we talk on the move," he said, "You have made enemies, powerful enemies."

"We would be wise to not linger in one place too long."

Lyna pursed her lips.

She did not like the idea of running, but her experience during the Blight taught her the value of staying one step ahead of the enemy.

"Okay then," she said, "We will take you back to our camp."

Royce gave the man a cool look, not suspicious exactly, but cautious.

He had helped them fight off their attackers after all.

That was hardly the act of an enemy.

"Is that wise Ar..." he caught himself even as Lyna was glaring at him.

So far they had not figured out that she was the Hero of Ferelden. Here she was just a Dalish Grey Warden named Lyna.

That was best for everyone…for now at least.

Few recognized her on sight, there were no paintings of her, and the chantry's depiction of her always made her look more human than elven. The fools did not even try to get her Vallaslin right.

It might have been insulting if it was not so useful.

She preferred that no one knew who she was. It was an advantage that would be lost if Royce announced who she was to an entire Orlesian garrison.

Fortunately, he caught on quick.

 _Lucky him._

He shifted under the weight of her cold gaze, finally he finished.

"Warden," he said.

Lyna pinned him with her cold gaze for a moment more, then relented.

"Wise, no," she said, "Necessary, oh yes."

She smiled at their new companion.

"We have questions," she said, "Hopefully you have answers."

"I will tell you what I can," he promised.

"Good," she purred gesturing towards the fortress' exit.

"Shall we?"

The man smirked and nodded.

"Lead the way."

A/N: A special shout out to Merilsell, the _shem'alas_ taunt is from her story _Elves and Humans_ if you have not read it you should, it is great.

DG


	5. Back at Camp

**Chapter 5: Back at Camp**

"Hold still."

Lyna sighed and took a deep breath, centering herself the best she could. Royce kneeled beside her by the fire, needle and thread in hand.

She tried not to flinch when the needle entered her skin, the wound on her arm wasn't bad, but it was deep enough that it needed to be stitched closed. She had not realized how much the wound had bled until they got back to their little camp.

The Dalish's eyes narrowed.

This was not the best of start for her mission. She had hoped to maintain at least some small degree of secrecy. She could not keep it hidden forever of course, but she had hoped to do more than remain hidden for only a few weeks.

The attack in that Tavern showed that that desire had been a false hope.

She glanced over at Royce; the warriors eyes were fixed on her wound, the man had the kind of focus that she admired in a fellow warrior.

He glanced up and gave her a reassuring smile.

" _This_ will likely leave a scar," he said.

Lyna smirked.

"Lovely," she replied with a grin, "another for my collection."

The warrior snickered and returned to work.

Arrow lay close by his large brown eyes staring into the fire. Bok had once again pulled out his book, seemingly engrossed in another chapter…

Her eyes fell on their newest addition. Kierhen sat quietly across from her the firelight turning his features a bright orange. He had said little since they had left the Citadelle Corbeau. He idly scratched the head of the large gray wolf that accompanied him.

Lyna's elven ears twitched with curiosity.

The man had chosen to aid them, to aid her, yet he had not yet revealed the reason why. She disliked mysteries as they often hid agendas that likely worked contrary to her own.

She pursed her lips.

The man said she was being hunted, that she had made powerful enemies. The latter was no surprise; the former…should not have come to pass so quickly.

She needed to know what was going on, and the Ranger had the information she required.

She was determined to hear it.

She remained still while Royce finished binding her wound; when it was done he stepped back and nodded. She glanced down at her shoulder using a damp cloth to get a closer look at what he had done.

The Dalish smiled.

"Mas serannas," she purred, "You do that like a seasoned healer."

Royce snorted dismissively.

"I have been in many scraps over the years. After living such a life, the care of small wounds becomes almost second nature."

Bok looked up from his book.

"Surprising," he said, "I would assume that a career guardsman would never have been far from a healer."

Royce gave the dwarf an acidic look.

"Being a guard is not all patrols and chasing off brigands, master dwarf."

Bok chuckled, and looked over at Kierhen.

"In case you were wondering, Master Ranger," he said, "Our former guardsman is referring to me."

The dwarf smirked.

"That one does not like me very much."

Kierhen smirked.

"I cannot imagine why."

Lyna snorted with amusement, as much as she would like to listen to her fellow trade veiled insults, there was still the matter of what had happened to them tonight.

She turned to Kierhen.

"We are grateful for your help, messere," she began, "but part of me is curious to how you knew that we would need it. Our passing through this way was not something that was well known."

The Ranger smiled slightly.

"You want to know how those buggers found you."

"It would be nice," she replied.

Kierhen pulled a piece of dried meat out of a pouch on his belt. The large wolf beside him perked up at the sight.

Arrow noticed it too, and whined slightly.

The wolf turned towards the Mabari and growled, warning him away.

Kierhen touched the beast's head with his free hand.

"None of that now, Lady," he admonished, "These people are friends."

The wolf sniffed, and did not take her eyes off of Arrow, not until the jerky was in her mouth. Only then did the large animal relax.

Kierhen sighed; his eyes met Lyna's. These were not the eyes of a wide eyed young man. There was pain there, pain and a healthy dose of experience. She had heard of Rangers before of course, they had them in the wild places of Ferelden as well. The Dalish chose to avoid them for the most part, warning them off should they drift too near their camps.

Lyna had never had one serving in the vigil as a grey warden, but she had heard enough stories to respect their skills.

Kierhen looked into the fire.

"I first became aware of your presence two days ago," he admitted, "I had been doing a bit of hunting when I found a scout moving through the underbrush."

The Ranger shook his head.

"The scout's weapons and armor practically screamed professional mercenary, not the type we usually find wandering alone out here in the Dirth. Typically, I try to avoid such encounters, but given the fact that he seemed to be shadowing someone, I chose to intervene."

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

"You claim we were being followed?"

Kierhen smiled.

"I claim nothing, you **were** being followed."

Her elven ears lowered.

"I would have known if we were being followed," she said flatly, "I know the ways of the wilderness."

The Ranger snorted with amusement.

"I mean no disrespect lethallin, but if you are who you say you are. You have been out of the wilderness a long time."

He sighed.

"Do not let your Dalish pride get in the way of the truth. Ignoring a weakness is a quickest route to getting yourself killed."

Lyna's eyes flashed.

If Kierhen was afraid he did not show it.

"What do you know of the Dalish?" she demanded.

"Quite a bit," he admitted, "My father was one of the people. My mother was the daughter of a farmer who lived not far from here."

The young man looked down.

"Every summer when the clan passed near our home, my father came for me. He taught me much about his people."

The Dalish warden's eyes narrowed.

"You said _his_ people?"

"Yes."

"Then you don't consider them **your** people?"

Kierhen flinched, and looked away.

"No," he said flatly.

"The Dalish will **never** be **my** people."

Bok lowered his book.

"I take it the clan would not have been happy to find out that one of their hunter's had a half breed child?"

Kierhen's eyes narrowed, as he glared at the dwarf.

"No, they weren't, and I don't like that word dwarf," he said coldly.

Bok arched an eyebrow.

"Which one? Half breed?"

The Ranger, flinched again, and nodded slightly.

The dwarf shrugged.

"I mean no offense. If I could offer a bit of friendly advice, do not be afraid of names, my friend. Wear them, claim them as your own, they are just words after all."

He smiled slightly.

"What can words do?"

The Ranger relaxed a little.

He returned his attention to Lyna.

"It was not I that turned my back on the Dalish; they chose to turn their backs on me."

The Ranger frowned.

"I will never be one of them."

Lyna tilted her head.

"Do you hate us?"

"I do not trust you," he admitted.

She hissed with frustration.

"Then why come to my aid in the tavern?"

"Because you're **not** just another Dalish, if the man following you was to be believed."

He sat up straighter.

"Is it true; are you the warden that slew the Archdemon?"

Lyna sighed.

"My blade took the Archdemon's head," she said, "But I was not alone in ending the monster's life. Many brave souls died to bring an end to the Blight."

Kierhen arched an eyebrow.

"Humility? From a Dalish hunter?"

He shook his head.

"That is surprising."

Her eyes narrowed again.

"You seem to enjoy insulting me, Ranger."

He shrugged.

"Merely commenting on your maturity, warden" he said, "Many of the people's hunters seem to think that they and they alone truly understand the ways of the warrior, they behave like arrogant da'len."

He sighed.

"I mean no insult, if anything, I'm impressed."

She sniffed.

"I was **not** trying to impress you," she said, "And as for maturity, you should be grateful I possess it."

She glared at him.

"Four years ago I would have knocked you on your ass for insulting the people."

Bok cleared his throat loudly.

"Not that I do not enjoy watching a good fight, but there is still a matter of people trying to kill us."

He turned to the ranger.

"Finish your story, friend Kierhen."

The ranger and the warden glared at each other a moment more, but then Kierhen returned to what he had been saying.

"The man following you was a member of the group that tried to ambush you at the tavern. They are apparently a rather large organization…"

He sighed.

"They sent groups to all the surrounding settlements. The fort here was the closest. I gambled that if you were coming out of the wild you would stop there first."

He smiled slightly.

"I was right."

Lyna snorted, she was still feeling a little miffed about being followed. Still, she did not let her temper destroy her reason.

If what this man was saying was true, any shemlen settlement was likely too dangerous to risk entering.

Her eyes narrowed.

It was like running from Teyrn Loghain all over again.

She did not intend to live that way again.

"I don't suppose the scout you found told you who was hunting me?" she asked.

"He did not know," the ranger said with a shrug, "apparently there are two bounties posted on your head right now warden. One wants you alive, the other wants you dead. The men you faced wanted to try and capture you so that they could auction you off to the competing parties."

"They would have found me less than cooperative," she sneered.

"I don't doubt it," the ranger replied with a slight smile.

Bok frowned.

"How much coin is being offered?" he asked.

All of his companions gave him a dirty look.

"I'm merely curious," he said raising his hands, "The amount of coin being offered might give us an idea of who wants you dead. An extremely high number might suggest a high noble, maybe even a member of the Empress' court."

Royce sneered at that.

"If someone with **that** kind of power wanted the Arlessa dead, we never would have made it out of that fort alive."

"Perhaps," Bok agreed, "of course, maybe those that posted the bounty do not wish to be known, perhaps they desire to see this handled…quietly."

Lyna considered that.

The dwarf made a good point.

Still, it did not explain how someone with power had learned of her journey. Only Nathaniel had known in Vigil's Keep, and he, would not have betrayed her.

Perhaps, she had been recognized at the border. Maybe whoever was behind this already had agents in the keep. Perhaps someone had been watching the Vigil for quite some time, someone with both coin and a grudge.

She frowned.

Not a pleasant thought.

She shook her head.

If what the thin blood was saying was true, her mission was likely over before it had even begun. She did not possess the necessary power to hold off so many armed enemies. It was just the four of them after all.

She looked down at her stitched up arm.

They had been lucky; they had come through that fight with little injury…

Next time, they might not be so lucky.

She hissed angrily.

She did not have the necessary power to continue her quest!

She needed more than men and blades.

She needed power… _magical_ power!

"We need a mage," said under her breath.

She looked up at her companions.

"We need a mage," she repeated.

None of them answered her.

Royce frowned and looked down at the ground.

Bok gave her a sly smile.

"Not an easy thing to come by warden," he said, "Perhaps we should pay a visit to one of the circles here."

His smile widened.

"You could always _recruit_ a mage."

She frowned.

She could do that, yes, but that meant going into a city, a city full of possible hostiles.

She cursed under her breath.

She did not see an easy answer here.

Kierhen frowned.

"I might be able to help you," he said.

All their eyes fell on the ranger."

"Which part?" Bok asked.

"Finding a mage," the ranger said.

"I might be able to help you."

He looked at Lyna.

"I've been hearing rumors the last few weeks about a mage wandering the woods a few days journey from here. The local villagers have not been pleased."

The ranger looked into the fire.

"The chantry dispatched a full company of Templars to run down the apostate. If they find this mage before we do…"

Lyna gave him an arched look, her elven ears rose.

"We?" she asked.

He gave her a wan smile.

"You saved us all when you ended the Blight, warden, myself included." he said, "My personal feelings aside, I feel that I owe you."

He leaned back and patted the head of his wolf.

"No one knows these woods better than me. I will help you find the mage, if you desire. After that, if you are willing, I will accompany you for a time."

His eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I don't like owing anyone. I would like the chance to pay my debt."

Lyna pursed her lips.

The Ranger had done nothing to warrant any ill feelings, regardless of his history. Any grudge he held against her people did not seem to affect his desire to help her, and if he could lead her to a mage…?

Wasn't that worth the risk?

She sighed.

"I ask that you travel only as far as you are willing," she told the ranger.

"This will be a long journey."

The ranger sighed.

"There is nothing for me here now, warden" he said with a grim look, his silence speaking more than any words.

He bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart.

"You have my sword, Lethallin."

He glanced up at her.

"I am yours."

 **A/N: Next chapter: The Mage.**


	6. The Maker's Will

**Chapter 6: The Maker's Will**

" **Stop this!"**

Sister Esme glared at the Revered Mother. The two had been arguing this matter all day, the head of this chantry was usually a very open woman, willing to listen to reason…

In _this_ , however, she was not.

The older woman sighed.

"There is nothing we can do, child," she responded, her thick Orlesian accent hinting at a past in the capital city. Esme had only been in Orlais a few months herself, having been transferred from the Circle Tower of Ferelden.

Though transfer was not the most appropriate definition, she thought with a frown, exiled was a better one.

After what happened with Aubrey, the Knight-Commander could never have let her stay.

Never.

Even if she had wanted to…

The Village of Port de Armasse was where she was to pay her penance. It was a small thing, a tiny blot one would likely not find on any official chart. A small village full of people with even smaller minds…

From her first day here the Revered Mother had suggested that she accept the people here as they were. They were the Maker's flock and needed their guidance; however it was also wise to stay out of the way when they all got a single idea into their heads. Resistance could lead to trouble.

The Revered Mother thought it best that Esme avoid trouble.

The young sister shook her head, her long black hair done up in a simple braid bobbed as she tried to make the older woman see sense.

"This cannot be the Maker's will," she hissed, "I know this village has suffered. I know it's been having a bad season, but this…this…"

The sister gestured to the door, outside the voices of an angry crowd could be heard; torchlight flickered through the chantry windows…

The mob was getting ready to enjoy the show.

They had captured the elven boy in the woods. He had led the hunters on a merry chase for a while, but now it was all over.

Now…the town was ready to deliver what it thought was justice for dozens of imagined slights.

The very thought made Esme sick.

"You must do something," she repeated, "You must!"

Again the Revered Mother sighed.

"This is out of our hands," she repeated, "The people need someone to blame."

Esme's eyes narrowed.

"So we let them burn that poor boy at the stake?"

The Revered Mother frowned.

"That boy attacked Francois and Arin in the woods," she reminded her, "He threw fire at them, and burned poor Francois quite badly…"

The Mother shook his head.

"These people know that the Dalish have been passing through near here for the past two years, since that time, good fortune seems to have abandoned this place."

"That is **not** the boy's fault," Esme interrupted, "He is a mage. He should be turned over to the Templars given to the circle."

"I tried to explain that to the mayor," the Revered Mother said.

Esme snorted.

"He is out there holding a torch right now!" she spat, "What kind of justice can we expect from him?!"

"He understands his flock," the Mother answered.

She glared down at the young sister.

"You should try to as well."

Esme shook her head. She whispered a silent prayer to Andraste, asking that the prophet give her the wisdom to help the Revered Mother see sense…

The chantry was the moral compass of the village, if the head of the chantry spoke up now…

Was it so much to ask, what she was trying to do? She was trying to save a child from a horrible fate.

She suppressed a whimper.

If only Aubrey had been so lucky.

Thinking of her twin only increased her resolve to stop this farce. Aubrey had been a loyal member of the circle, a healer, and a friend to all who needed his aid.

It was because of her brother that she took up the cloth in the first place. She could not do what Aubrey could do, but that did not mean that she could not help in her own way.

No, she thought, I will not give up!

I can't.

She dropped to her knees, a sinner begging for forgiveness.

"Please, Your Reverence," she pleaded, "In the name of all that is good, please do something! All I ask is a bit of honest Andrastian charity. Have mercy on that poor boy, the Maker will truly smile upon you if you do."

The older woman gave her a sad smile. She reached up and stroked the girl's cheek.

"Ah, the passion of the young," she cooed, "I admire what you are trying to do Sister Esme, but it is not within my power to stop what is to come."

Esme's lip trembled.

"Your Reverence! Please!"

"If the boy is saved, then he will be saved. If he dies, then he dies, that is the will of the Maker."

She put a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

"We should not intervene."

Esme frowned. Anger burned in her eyes, anger and disappointment.

Somehow, she had hoped for better than this. Knight Commander Greagoir had showed her twin no mercy…

She had hoped that a fellow sister would at least listen to her pleas.

She was sadly, mistaken.

Esme rose and dusted off her robes. It was clear that there was nothing left to be said.

She turned and made for the door.

The Mother gave her a nervous look.

"Where are you going child?"

Esme turned; a deep frown marred her pretty features.

"If this is the Maker's will, then it is my duty to watch what occurs first hand," she said coldly, "The least I can do for the boy is bear witness."

The Mother cringed where she stood.

"Such matters should not be left to one so young," she advised, "Return to your room, I will call you when this is over."

Esme shook her head.

"I am sorry, Your Reverence, but I will not bury my head in the sand, not when the Maker chooses to vet out his…justice."

She sighed and opened the door.

"I will not ask you or any of the others to join me," she said, "But…I wish you would, if this is the Maker's will, then we owe it to our flock to stand witness."

The Revered Mother said nothing; she did not even try to call for the others.

Esme's heart fell.

She expected as much.

"Child?" the Revered Mother called out.

Esme ignored her.

"Child! Stop!"

Esme did not obey; she stepped out into the night, the fire and cries of vengeance wrapped around her like a diseased blanket.

Sister Esme sighed.

She had hoped for more, but was not surprised.

The Revered Mother had her conscience.

Esme had hers.

She hoped that she would at least be able to sleep tonight without hearing that poor boy's screams.

Hope, she thought with a sad chuckle.

It had abandoned her long ago.

Now all she could do was watch…

Watch…and bear witness.

She stepped out into the town square. The forty or so people that made up their congregation stood before a large wooden stake awaiting the start of the show. Torches were carried, as well as a few scythes and swords. All that could be armed were armed, in case the boy tried to use his magic to escape. Already a massive pile ring of wood surrounded the post. The constable and two of his guards stood watch, armed and armored, to make sure this…this travesty did not get more out of hand then it possibly could.

Esme shook her head.

Word had been sent to the White Spire, but the Templars would still not arrive for several days. The crowd was unwilling to wait that long, two years of poor hunting and weak crops had turned the good people of this village rabid.

They needed someone to blame, a scapegoat that they could punish.

In the elven boy, they had found it.

All eyes were on the small guard station. When the constable gestured, the elf was dragged out into the street. He was dirty, his short black hair a rat's nest atop his head. His left eye was blackened, blood leaked from his nose. He was gagged so that he could not speak any of his wicked spells, his hands bound painfully.

Esme whimpered.

If only the Templars had caught the boy, that had to be better than what was about to occur.

It had to be.

The constable read the charges. The boy had been captured yesterday, and tried in absentia that evening.

For the crimes against the good people of Port De Armasse he was to be burned. Only then would the evil that had haunted their peaceful little town be lifted.

Esme shook her head.

This was not how one cleansed evil, she thought.

This is how one **gave into** it.

She cupped her hands before her, begging one last time for the Maker to intervene. The Dalish boy had done nothing, nothing but defend himself. What had happened to this place was no more his fault then it was hers.

She glanced at the constable, hoping to get his attention.

The man noticed her; she had already tried once already to plead the boy's case.

The Constable shook his head no.

This matter would go on as planned.

The Sister prayed for the boy's soul, that and for hers as well, and for the good people of this little village.

Fear makes monsters of us all, she thought.

Now we must live with what we are about to do.

The Dalish boy glared at his captors, his anger undeniable, she did not blame him. The elves in these parts often thought of the humans as monsters.

Today, her village was providing proof for that theory.

The boy had refused any religious council. He refused to answer to the servants of the "shem god" whatever that meant. Esme did not fault him for his beliefs. Once, the worship of Andraste was thought of as the worst sacrilege.

She had no right to oppose anyone else's faith, not after tonight.

The boy was dragged up to the pole; two of the constable's men forced him back while the others bound him tight. They stepped forward quickly, as the mayor approached, torch in hand.

Esme's hands twisted into fists. She wanted to leap up, shield the boy, but knew that she would only be dragged away, perhaps even accused of being the thrall of the young mage.

If that happened, the chantry would punish her, she might even be sent to Aeonar.

That fear alone stopped her.

She bowed her head, ashamed of her cowardice.

The mayor raised the torch, even as he quoted the chant of light.

"The righteous shall stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall…"

He never got to finish.

An arrow knocked the torch from his hand.

Esme's eyes widened.

The constable drew his sword, only to have second arrow strike his blade as well.

The people began to panic; they had not expected this…

All it would take would be one final incident and the mob would be out of control.

That incident came…in the form of a burning wagon. It rolled down the street picking up speed.

The townsfolk shrieked and panicked, one of the men tried to stop it, but was struck in the arm by another arrow.

The burning wagon rolled into the crowd.

Chaos ensued.

IOI

Lyna kept her distance; the shadows of the building shielded her from detection even as there diversion did its work.

The Dalish warden frowned.

This…was not quite what she expected.

They had arrived too late, and now they had to take direct action to liberate their prize. They also had to be careful.

No killing, she had warned, fight only to protect yourself.

She no desire to become an outlaw here in Orlais, but considering what had happened at that Tavern on the Exalted Plains…

It was best that they keep a low profile.

Then…there was the mage himself.

Lyna frowned.

He was not quite what she had hoped for.

When Kierhen suggested that he knew where they could find a mage, she had hoped for something more than the boy bound to the post. He was a da'len, not even old enough to be given his Vallaslin.

She would air her frustration to the ranger later, right now; she had a life to save.

No one deserved the fate the shemlen here had in mind for that poor boy.

She and Kierhen moved through the shadows on opposite sides of the crowd, firing arrows at anyone even attempting to resist or light that pyre. Royce had set the card ablaze and on its merry course, it had been his idea truth be told.

Lyna smiled.

Her friend had a good grasp of tactics.

She could not see Bok, but knew the dwarf was there. When they had found the remains of the elf's camp, they had tracked the people that had taken him here.

Bok, pretending to be a merchant's guard had learned everything he could about what was happening tonight.

Even now the dwarf would be sneaking though the crowd, he would cut the boy free, and they would make a run for it.

Perhaps it was not the best of plans, but what choice did she have.

She needed magical help.

Another guard lost his blade to one of Kierhen's arrows; his partner whirled about to charge in the direction that the ranger had fired from.

Lyna fired one of her own; the man's weapon flew out of his hand.

Disarmed the two guards panicked and started running around like the rest of the villagers.

Lyna smirked.

She had no desire to hurt these people, but that did not mean she was above punishing them for their arrogance.

That would teach them to pick on a Da'len.

She moved forward, darting from shadow to shadow, another arrow already nocked.

She smiled fiercely.

The fun continued.

IOI

Esme kept back, trying not to be trampled by the maddened crowd.

The sister's eyes narrowed. She spotted movement by the post, the boy struggled, but unless she was mistaken.

Esme smiled.

It seemed that the Maker had taken a hand in tonight's events after all.

A dwarf in rough leather armor was untying the boy, no sooner had he gotten the elf's hands free that he grabbed his wrist and started dragging him away. The boy struggled. The dwarf shouted something at him, but his words were lost in the chaos.

Esme's eyes widened.

She was not the only one who noticed the boy's escape.

One of the constable's men had gone for his crossbow.

He had the boy dead in his sights.

Esme dashed forward.

She was not sure what she was doing, it was madness, complete and utter madness!

She scooped up a fallen quarter staff, likely dropped by one of the village farmer's

The Sister's eyes narrowed.

She did not hesitate.

She twirled the staff overhead, and...

TWAP!

The hard wood struck the constable's man; he staggered his finger squeezing the trigger even as his aim was spoiled by the impact.

The bolt went over the heads of several villagers, adding even further to the chaos.

Esme stood in shock, looking down on the groaning guard.

She…she…

She gasped.

Oh Maker!

What have I done!

An armored hand clamped onto her shoulder, she was spun around quite violently.

She found herself eye to eye with the constable, his eyes filled with a cold and righteous anger.

"What have you done," he demanded.

She squeaked as he tightened his grip.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"

Esme tried not to panic, but fear robbed her of all reason.

She grabbed the constable's gauntlet.

"No," she gasped.

The Constable's eyes widened.

Intense cold flowed from Esme's hand; the constable's gauntlet was coated in ice in seconds!

He was so surprised that he released her. He just stood there, gaping at his hand.

Something large came up behind him. The Constable did not even have time to cry out.

A large heavy sword hilt struck him in the back of the head.

He fell like a sack of flour.

Esme swallowed hard.

The man standing before her was large and brutish, his arms and armor were clearly not Orlesian, his fur lined cloak seemed to blend in with his wild hair.

He grabbed her wrist.

"Come on," he shouted.

She stood there frozen.

He glared at her.

"COME ON!"

She shook her head no.

"Do you want to explain what you did to the Templars girl?"

Esme hiccupped, she had done nothing, and the ice thing had not been her fault…

Her eyes widened.

Striking that guardsman however, had been…

No, she thought.

Sweet Andraste!

NO!

The man gave her a compassionate look.

"You hit that man," he reminded, "The Templars won't forgive that!"

Esme almost laughed, it would have been fatalistic laugh, but a laugh none the less…

He had not seen.

He did not know!

Praise Andraste!

Alas, if she stayed here the Templars would investigate, they would question her…

They would find out!

They would see!

She took one last look at the town, the carriage had crashed into the tavern, fire was spreading, and all were too occupied fighting it to look at what was going on.

She whimpered.

The man might be criminal, perhaps a slaver.

She could not go with him, but if she didn't.

"Come on," he repeated.

He pinned her with his sad eyes.

"Please."

Esme had no choice.

She let him lead her.

Already guardsmen were crying out.

She could not stop.

She ran.

They ran.


	7. Why?

**Chapter 7: Why?**

Lyna emerged from the brush, an excited grin on her face.

She paused for a moment, listening to see if anyone was following her, hearing no one, she proceeded on to the group's rendezvous.

She felt little in the way of pity for that shem village. She understood that fear could make people do stupid things, but at the same time, she also understood the value of…correcting someone.

A mischievous glint came to her blue eyes.

With luck, those people would think twice before burning someone alive again.

She picked up the pace; hopefully, everyone else had made their escape as clean as she had. The Orlesian village was in chaos, they would need that as they slipped away in the darkness.

She hoped to be a good league away or more before the shem'alas of that village realized that they at least could try and pursue.

She moved quickly, but adopted her hunter's tread, quick, but not hurrying. She silently moved through the wilderness, a shadow against the trees.

It was not long until she noticed the clearing where they were all to meet up. Arrow sat patiently near their supplies, panting happily, awaiting his mistress' return. The Mabari stood up as she approached; wagging his stubby tail so hard it vibrated his hind quarters.

Lyna smiled, happy to see him again. She had told the pup of the need to be quiet right now. She was pleased to see he had not launched into a storm of barking.

Her big sweet boy.

"Anethera Lethallin," she cooed.

Kierhen's wolf had remained behind as well; the large beast lounging like it did not have a care in the world.

Lyna sneered.

The wolf was as irresponsible as her thin-blood master.

She was grateful for Kierhen's help back in that tavern, but the Ranger still had much to learn about the skills of a Dalish hunter. It pleased her that she was the first to arrive back at their meeting place.

She snorted with amusement.

And the Ranger thought **her** skills had diminished? This would show him, she…

"You made it!"

" _ **GAAAAH!"**_

Lyna jumped, perhaps almost a foot, she quickly clamped her hand over her mouth, silencing the cry that had escaped it.

She would not give way their position; just because she had not seen any pursuit did not mean that it was not still out there.

She looked up into the tree to her right. Kierhen sat up there, dangling his legs over a branch with a merry smile on his face.

"Your skills are returning lethallan," he smirked, "I only got here about five minutes before you."

Lyna glared at him.

"Ugh," she spat, "By the creators, do **not** do that again…"

She took a step towards him, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Ever," she finished.

The Ranger chuckled and flipped agilely down from his perch.

That merry smile never left his lips.

Lyna had never been more tempted to punch someone in all her life, okay, maybe Alistair, but that was a long time ago, and in her defense, he had really, **really** deserved it at the time.

Creators protect me, she thought.

 _The Ranger could be a real_ _ **pain!**_

Her blue eyes narrowed all the evil things she could do to a man quickly flashed through her mind. Once upon a time, she would have given into at least two of those impulses.

Now she settled only for a frustrated sigh.

There is that maturity again, she thought glumly.

Lucky me.

She turned to her companion, eager for answers.

"You were not honest with us," she spat.

Some of the amusement vanished from the ranger's face.

"Really," he said with a slight frown, "How so?"

Lyna's elven ears lowered slightly.

"You promised us a mage" she reminded him, "that da'len back there was hardly that."

Kierhen snorted at that.

"The boy is young, I will give you that, but he has… _potential._ I spent a good hour watching him in the woods, he knows at least a few spells that you might find useful, and besides…"

The Ranger pursed his lips.

"I cannot imagine the great Hero of Ferelden leaving a child of her people, abandoned by his clan, to wander the wilderness cold and alone."

Lyna's brow furrowed.

 _Damn the man,_ she thought.

He had no right to play that particular card!

It was hitting below the belt!

She found herself thinking of Ashalle, her foster mother, where would she have been had Ashalle not taken her in? The clan was supposed to care for all the children, but…sometimes, sometimes that did not happen…

She sighed, and shook her head.

"I don't suppose you know why the boy was abandoned?"

The Ranger sneered at her question.

"Why do you think he was abandoned warden," he said, "His clan already had a First, and another child that showed potential. You know that the Dalish cannot have too many magic users in their midst. It might draw the attention of the Templars."

Lyna's eyes widened.

"Are you saying the boy was exiled for his magic?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying," Kierhen responded, his face set into a cold frown.

"…The compassion of the Dalish folk at its finest."

She glared at him again. Arrow started to rise growling. Kierhen's wolf also sat up, watching the confrontation between the warden and the ranger far closer than she should have…

The air was pregnant with fury.

Lyna clenched and unclenched her hands.

Now, she **really** wanted to strike the bastard.

She knew what he was saying happened sometimes; it was not easy for a clan with too many mages. As he had said, it brought the Templars. Still the clans had options. They could have sought out one of the neighboring clans, ones that were in need of a First or one with potential, abandoning a da'len to fend for himself in the wilderness. It…it was not…

She could almost see Marethari's face floating before her, the old keeper's ears lowering slightly.

"Our ways are not always kind, da'len, but we must do what we must to keep the people safe."

Slowly, Lyna's temper began to cool. She did not like how flippantly the ranger dismissed the ways of her people, but…

There was at least a grain of truth in what he had said, she might not like it, but it was there.

The truth was often complicated.

Though now she found herself growing curious, the man had no love for the Dalish, yet he went out of his way to help the boy…

She wanted to know why.

"What was this boy to you?" she asked.

"A Da'len in danger," he replied, "Isn't that enough."

Her eyes narrowed, normally it would be, but today was far from normal.

"Was he of your clan?"

Kierhen's reaction was immediate, his eyes flared, his expression became a cold mask of anger.

"I have no clan warden," he reminded her.

"Your father's clan then?"

Kierhen snorted at that.

"If he was, I likely would have left him to his fate. No, the boy is not of my father's clan, but his clan did trade with them. I was just passing through when I found his small camp. I recognized the symbols on his cloak. I'm guessing he had only been away from his clan a few days before I found him, not long enough for him to start to starve, but enough to strip away any warm feelings he might have for his clan.

The Ranger shook his head.

I know what it is like to be cast aside warden," he said, "I would not leave anyone to face that. I was about to approach him, offering him my help when a pair of human's from that village found him. He burned one and sent the other running. The boy was scared but he did not panic. I thought he could take care of himself so I continued on, which is when I bumped into one of the mercenaries hunting you."

Kierhen sighed.

"The rest you know."

Lyna pursed her lips.

"So you left him, when you could have offered aid?"

As I said, he seemed like he could take care of himself. When you said you needed a mage, I thought he might be useful to you. I hoped that he would be ok until we reached him."

The ranger shrugged.

"I was wrong."

Lyna's ears lowered slightly, as she digested what Kierhen had told her.

He had made a call, not one she would have made, but it wasn't her place to look down on his decisions now.

She would be able to make a more informed decision once Bok got back with the boy, she could then…

The trees parted.

Royce stepped into the clearing and behind him…

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

What was this now?

The Ranger's brow furrowed.

"Looks like are warrior brought a friend," he said dryly.

The Warden blinked not really sure of what to make of what she was seeing.

The chantry sister remained close to Royce. Lyna would guess she was around her age, but could not tell for certain, she had never had a talent for guessing shemlen ages, the old had gray hair, that was the best she could do. The girl's red and white robes stood out starkly amongst the green foliage. Her long black hair had come loose during the run, and now she was trying to clear twigs and leaves out of it.

In her left hand she carried a quarter staff, using it for a walking stick. The Dalish noticed the girl was limping.

Lyn walked up to her companion, she glanced from the sister to the warrior and back again.

Her blue eyes became flinty.

"Explain?" she said.

"Warden," Royce began, "This is Sister Esme."

She turned to the girl.

"Anethera, Esme," she said before returning her attention to Royce.

"I said: explain."

Royce withered slightly under her gaze, but did not back down completely.

"She saved that elven boy from an arrow," he informed her, "Had I left her behind she might have been arrested, or killed by that mob back there."

Lyna tilted her head slightly.

The girl…tried to help the boy?

Wasn't that surprising?!

"Why?" she asked the girl.

"Pardon?" the sister said.

"Why did you help the boy?"

The sister looked away from her.

"I thought the boy deserved better than to be killed so ignobly," she responded, "That…and…"

She paused.

Lyna waited, still not quite sure what to make of all this.

The sister gave her a weak smile.

"Besides," she said, "It was the right thing to do."

Behind them Kierhen laughed and shook his head.

"I doubt the people of your village would agree," he said with a smirk.

The Sister shrugged.

"True," she said, the people of Port de Armasse are not the most charitable people I've met, but at least they do not have that boy's blood on their hands."

Esme sighed.

"It is my duty to look out for the souls of my flock."

Kierhen sneered.

"And because you did that, it is safe to say that you will never be welcomed back to your flock, sister."

She winced and looked away.

"That is true, messere, but if I had to do it again…"

She looked up into Lyna's eyes, cold determination burned in them.

"If I had to do it again," she said, "I would."

Again the Ranger laughed.

"Woman, you are mad."

Lyna snorted with amusement.

"She is not the first mad chantry sister I have met," the warden admitted, "And that one has become one of my best friends."

She held out her hand to Esme.

"Mas serranas," she told the girl, "thank you for trying to help."

The sister blushed and took the warden's hand.

"You…you are…um…welcome," she said looking around quickly, "Now if you will pardon me, may I ask who exactly you people are?"

Lyna was just about to answer when an angry snarl emerged from the greenwood.

It was at that moment that the bushes parted with a crash dumping a tangle of arms and legs into the clearing. Swear words both in the king's tongue, dwarvish, and elvish emerged from the ball.

Lyna shook her head.

Bok had finally made it back, with the boy in tow.

Neither of them looked happy about it.

This was how the group first became introduced to the Dalish boy they would come to know as Findel.

Maker help them all.


	8. Findel

**A/N: Going to use a smattering of elvish here, if I am wrong don't hold it against me.**

 **Chapter 8: Findel**

" **UNHAND ME, DURGHENLEN!"**

Findel struggled as the dwarf shoved him along. Elvhen boy still had no clue what was truly going on. One moment the shem'alas were getting ready to burn him, the next…

He glared down at his new captor

"Be quiet boy, we're almost there."

Findel did not know where "there" was but he did not think he wanted to go there.

He had seen what this man's "allies had done back there.

It was if the Dread Wolf himself had descended upon the village.

Findel felt no sadness for those people, they could all die for all he cared, but now he found himself facing the unknown.

Who knew what durgen'len wanted him for?

So he continued to struggle, he had managed to free himself from the gag, now all he had to do was get his hands free…and…

The dwarf tightened the grip on his arm.

"Quiet child," he hissed, "Do you wish all of Orlais to hear us?!"

The Dalish boy was not put off. For all he knew he had been saved from one death so that he could endure a worse one.

He would not let that happen.

His ears twitched, he thought he could hear voices up ahead, several voices.

If he was going to try and escape, now was the time.

Seeing no other recourse, unable to free his hands, he had only one thing he could do.

He leaned down and bit the Durghenlen's ear.

 _Sweet Creators,_ he thought.

 _Horrible taste!_

 _ **Horrible!**_

The dwarf howled he tried to spin around but they ended up tangled and fell. They rolled through the bushes, fighting, spitting, and snarling at each other.

The boy remained unable to get free. He tried to fight but soon felt strong arms on his shoulders dragging him to his feet.

He spit Dalish obscenities and struggled mightily, but the large shemlen that held him was strong, his grip like iron manacles.

He continued to struggle, trying to free himself. He…

That is when he heard the voices again…

That is when he was almost tempted to give into them.

The Keeper, he had warned Findel about this. The spirits of the beyond, they whispered to those with the gift. The more ambitious spirits tried to convince the gifted to let them into their bodies. If that happened…?

The boy shuddered.

If that happened, bad things would happen.

He tried to ignore those voices, tried to focus on fighting.

"Calm, yourself, boy," the voice was gruff, and guttural.

Typical for a shemlen.

He hissed and fought on.

" _Dal'en, te 'din enfenim!"_

The voice was soft, musical, and familiar…

It gave him pause…

" _Dal'en, te 'din enfenim."_

…The voice of one of the people.

He ceased struggling; finally getting a chance to see what was going on around him.

Findel's ears twitched.

The sight before him made no sense.

The Chantry sister from the village tended to the dwarf, who was still growling words of vengeance. She cooed softly, as he examined his ear. A large wolf sat next to a large dog not far from a small pile of supplies. Leaning against a tree a slender man in green stood, dressed in shemlen mail.

Findel's eyes narrowed.

He recognized this one.

"Sethlin!" he spat angrily.

The _sethlin_ , the thin blood, snorted at him.

"Ah the gratitude of the Dalish folk," he said with a sneer.

Findel spat at him.

"You are working for the shemlen now," he said switching back to the shemlen common tongue.

"Hunting the people, you are a monster!"

The thin-blood shook his head, and glanced at another standing in the shadows.

"No good deed goes unpunished, warden," he said.

The figure, the warden stepped out where he could see her.

Findel's breath caught in his throat.

 _Creator,_ he thought.

 _She was_ _ **beautiful!**_

Long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Large oval blue eyes, long tapered ears, a rounded nose and wide generous mouth, her forehead and chin adorned with the markings of the people. Gentle swirling patterns that flowed to two single points.

His struggled ceased.

He may only have been thirteen, but he knew a beautiful female when he saw one.

His mouth had grown dry; he swallowed trying to work some saliva back into it.

She gave him a soft smile.

"You have no more reason to be afraid, Da'len," she said, her voice was the one who had gotten through his fear and anger.

"You are among friends," she said.

Hearing such words brought his guard back up, despite the presence of the elvhen temptress before him.

Friends?

He sneered at the very thought.

Right!

IOI

Lyna regarded the boy. She tried to guess which tribe he had come from. Keeper Marethari tried to teach the symbols of each clan to the Da'len; so that they might recognize each other if they ever met.

The warden frowned.

Alas, those lessons had been a long time ago, and she had been far from a dutiful student. In truth, she had been more interested in getting Tamlen into trouble than study.

She pursed her lips.

Ah the innocence of youth.

Innocence that now seemed like a distant memory.

The boy, no longer struggling sized her up.

His eyes narrowed when he noticed her armor.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he demanded.

"I'm a warrior," she responded, "It is my armor."

Hostility returned to the boy's eyes.

"I thought you one of the people," he hissed, "But you're just another flat-ear, aren't you? How did you get those marks? Why have you stolen the vallaslin?"

Lyna tried not to be offended, even though she felt a brief flash of anger.

"I am no flat ear," she said, "I am…I was a member of Clan Sabrae, we travelled the Brecilian forests of Ferelden."

She bowed slightly to him, her hands over her heart.

"My name is Lyna, daughter of Mahariel."

His ears twitched, and he sighed.

"Findel," he said, "My name is Findel."

"Anethera, Findel," she responded, "You do not have to be afraid anymore, you are among friends."

The boy still did not look convinced. He did not struggle, but Lyna was not yet ready to tell Royce to release him.

An angry mage could be dangerous, it might be a very shemlen thing to say, but in this case it was true.

She had slain too many abominations during the Blight to not be leery of magic run wild.

The boy continued to glare at them, or rather at Kierhen.

She smiled slightly.

"I take it you and the Ranger have met?" she said.

The boy spat again.

"The clan knew of him," he said, "The Keeper said he was never to be allowed to enter our camp, even when he came to trade for supplies.

Kierhen snorted at that.

"Like I would ever want to see your camp," he said, "Besides I would not put too much stock in what your Keeper said, Da'len."

Kierhen gave him a cruel smile.

"He cast **you** out didn't he?"

The boy hissed, Lyna glared at the Ranger, and bade him to be silent.

She realized that it would not be easy to reach the boy. Dalish pride could be a very…prickly thing.

She found herself thinking of Duncan, and what he had to put up with in the first few days after he took her from the clan.

The warden pursed her lips.

She had not thought much about Duncan over the years. She had not had the same relationship with the man that Alistair had. He had been patient with her, more than patient, he could have struck her several times for her insolence, but he never had.

Duncan…he had saved her life, gave her purpose, and new world to call her own. He had not been responsible for what happened to her and Tamlen.

She probably could have been nicer back then, if her grief and self-pity had allowed it. Truth be told, she had been half-crazy, maddened by the loss of both Tamlen and her life with the clan.

Duncan had helped her through that. Could she do any less for the boy?

In Duncan's name, she would try to reach him; she would try to be equally patient, even though it was not one of her strongest virtues.

"The Ranger told us about you," she informed him, "I hoped that you would be willing to help me…"

She saw Findel straighten, his ears twitched. At least she had managed to get his attention.

"I am a grey warden," she said, "On a very important mission, and I find myself in need of magical support."

She smiled slightly.

"I was hoping that you would be willing to help."

The boy blinked. She hoped that he had at least heard of the Grey Wardens. The Blight may not have touched Orlais, but still rumors spread.

The Chantry sister, Esme, gasped at Lyna's admission.

"You are a warden?" she said.

"Yes," Lyna answered.

The sister's eyes widened.

"You…you are her? You truly are her? You're thee Grey Warden?! You are the woman who ended the Blight?"

Lyna snorted.

"My blade found the Archdemon's neck, yes."

The sister looked over at Findel, no at Royce, Lyna realized.

"Is this true," she asked him, "Is it true?"

"Yeah," Royce responded.

"All of it."

The sister looked on Lyna with new eyes.

Then Andraste has truly smiled on this boy, this day," she said, "He has sent the Hero of Ferelden to answer my prayers.

Both Lyna and Findel snorted at that.

She might have been a warden, and a hero, but she was still Dalish.

She had come to… _respect_ the shemlen god, but he would never be hers.

After all…she was still Dalish.

IOI

Findel glanced around at the strange group that surrounded him. One of the oldest rules for the Dalish came back to him.

Never trust a shem.

This…Lyna…if she _**had**_ been born among the people, it was clear that she had forgotten what it meant to be Dalish. The shems had remade her in their own image. Her armor and weapons no longer reflected the heritage of the Elvhenan. She might not see herself as a flat ear, but wasn't that what she was now.

The human's had taken away what she had been.

Then…there were the others.

It was an odd group indeed, a durgen'len, a chantry sister, a half breed, and some shem giant in armor, and the beasts of course. The wolf was likely the half breed's, Rangers had been known to tame them he knew, as for the other creature, the hound.

Shems were always enslaving creature to do their bidding.

He looked into this Lyna's eyes, blue pools that threatened to enslave him again. He found that he actually felt pity for her, lost to her clan, so far from home.

A thought occurred to him, a way that he might be able to help.

I can save her.

The thought struck like a bolt of lightning.

I can remind her of who she once was. Bring her back to the ways of the people.

He had heard of the Blight of course, who had not? The shems had been panicking about it a few years ago. Word had been sent even to his clan that the wardens were calling for aid. The border to the Ferelden had been shut, but that had never stopped the Dalish.

Twenty hunters from his clan had answered the wardens' call. Sixteen had come back, and they had brought stories of the elvhen hunter who had dealt with the Archdemon.

Findel's eyes narrowed.

The girl had been one of them! She should have been the people's hero, but the shem'alas had stolen her, just as they had stolen everything else from the elvhen.

Seeing her now, clad in the arms and armor of the shems, he knew that he could not leave her like this. He could not allow the shems to take away the warden who had saved the world. She was a hero to the shems, but she could be so much more to the Dalish.

She could be a symbol, one that Findel could reclaim. If he did that, what clan would not take him in? The Keeper himself might welcome him back with open arms, regardless of how much magic the clan possessed.

He gave her a hopeful look. He realized he would have to play along, at least until he reminded her what it meant to be Dalish. He could not risk the shems and their allies turning on the two of them.

He would need to protect her.

He would need to protect them both.

"If…if you will have me," he said shyly, "I will do what I can. The keeper taught me a few spell."

Lyna smiled at him. She motioned to the man holding Findel's arms.

The giant released him.

"I'm sure we can find ways to aid in your training along the way."

She glanced at the rest of their group.

Allow me to introduce the others," she said, "Kierhen and Sister Esme you know. The man behind you is Royce; the dwarf skulking in the shadows is Bok.

The boy smiled wickedly at the dwarf.

Bok, still rubbing his ear, gave the boy the finger.

Findel smiled.

He cared nothing for these others, what they thought of him. He had a mission now, and he would do his best to complete it.

He had been prepared to wander alone, but it seemed that creators had another purpose for him.

He was going to save the Hero of Ferelden. He was going to bring her back to the people.

He…was going to save her.

IOI

"Warden," Esme said softly.

She turned and glanced at the sister.

"Yes?"

Esme blushed slightly under her regard.

"I may be able to help the boy," she said.

Findel sneered at that.

"I don't need your prayers or your shemlen god, woman."

Esme's eyes narrowed.

"I spent almost two and a half years working in the Ferelden Circle," she said, "I observed many of their lessons, plus, my brother Aubrey was a mage, a good one, he showed me many things."

She smiled slightly.

"I may be able to teach some of them to our young friend here."

Royce gave her a concerned look.

"You wish to come with us?" he asked.

"I cannot stay here," she said, "The constable will no doubt be very angry with me. If I went back to the village, I would probably be arrested.

She looked at Lyna.

"If you will have me, Milady, I will do what I can to aid the boy. I may not be a mage, but I know things."

The warden's ears twitched, she glanced from the sister to Findel.

The boy scowled but said nothing, he wiped idly at his bloodied nose.

"Would you be willing to listen to the sister, Da'len?"

He glared at Esme.

"She is not going to try to turn me into a good little flat ear is she?"

The warden looked back at the sister.

She gave the boy what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"I will respect your gods," she said with a slight bow, "I will only share what I know of magic."

Findel shrugged and nodded, adopting a pose that was familiar to the parent of any arrogant teen.

"Okay," he said, "Whatever."

Lyna snorted with amusement. She suspected it would not be as easy as all that. She knew Dalish pride. Findel and Esme would no doubt clash over certain things.

She would have to keep an eye on them both, just to make sure they did not kill each other.

She glanced at those she had gathered these past few weeks.

The warden smiled.

"I told you all before, you are not bound to me, no one is bound to go any farther than they are willing to."

She adjusted her cloak.

"We should probably gather up our supplies and get moving, we will stop and rest a bit before dawn."

"Why not camp here?" Royce said.

"Still too close to that shem village," she said with a shake of her head, "I want to put at least a little more distance between us and them. After that we will strike out for Val Royeaux."

The mention of the city surprised several members of their group, Kierhen, Esme, and now Findel. Considering what had just happened, they probably suspected they would avoid cities.

Normally, Lyna would have agreed, but she still needed to meet with that scholar she had read about.

From him, she might learn where they needed to go next.

That…was the next step.

"Val Royeaux," Esme said shyly, "We are going to the capital?"

"That is right Sister," she answered.

"Val Royeaux."


	9. A City of Masks

**Chapter 9: A City of Masks**

Val Royeaux.

The capital city of the Empire of Orlais, it was called by his rulers the center of culture, art and music for all of southern Thedas.

Val Royeaux.

Seat of the Andrastian faith, it was the home to the newly elected Divine Justinia V, the place that all the faithful found their way to in one form or another.

Val Royeaux.

A place of schemes and the grand game, from here the Orlesian aristocracy flattered and deceived as they conducted their secret wars against each other, all fighting for attention of her Majesty Empress Celene.

It was to this city that Lyna was drawn. It was to this city that she hoped that her quest to find a cure for the Calling would truly begin. While going through the library of Vigil's Keep, she had discovered a book by a Chantry brother: Marcelle of Lydes. For almost a month she sat in the library pouring over that book. Brother Marcelle had done extensive research on the Blight, on all the Blights. He had collected names and dates. He told of potions used by the wardens to protect the common soldiers against the taint, and bolster their wills in the darkest battles. He told of places of great power, places the wardens had used to focus magical strength, and turn it against the Archdemons and their soulless followers.

Lyna had shaken her head as she finished reading that book.

So much information the man had learned, the warden could not help but wonder…

What had the man left out? What secrets must he have kept to himself, not wishing to anger the Grey Wardens?

If anyone knew anything of the Calling, and ways to counter act its effects, Brother Marcelle may have collected their works.

That made it worth her time to seek the man out.

A month before she had left the Vigil, she had sent a letter to her old companion Leliana. The former bard turned chantry sister was now living in the capital, working as an agent of the newly elected Divine.

It was through Leliana that she had learned that Brother Marcelle of Lydes was currently living in the capital, and it was through her old friend that she had learned his address.

Now after weeks of travel, she was on her way to speak with him, to learn, whatever it was he might know.

IOI

Lyna made her way down the long bridge and through the city gates. Several Orlesian nobles gawked as she and her companions passed by, gawked but quickly looked away before anyone in their group could take offense. Truth be told, she could not really blame them.

Heavily armed strangers, she would be weary of them as well.

Royce sneered at the nobles who fled from their path. More like strange birds then people, this lot, he had murmured.

Lyna could not really disagree with him.

Sister Esme kept her hood up, just in case the people from her village might have sent sketches of her face to the guards in the capital. Kierhen kept close watch on both Lady and Arrow. The sight of a full grown wolf, and a purebred Mabari walking the streets of Val Royeaux were something of an oddity.

Surprisingly, no guards challenged them over the animals' presence.

Fear did have some uses she supposed.

Findel, also hooded and cloaked, gawked at the sights of the human city. Lyna knew how he felt, she had been in awe of Denerim the first time she had seen it, all her life she had lived in the solitude of the forests, seeing a city for the first time was a bit of a shock.

The white marble structures, the brightly colored banners floating in the breeze, everywhere you looked icons of the golden lions could be seen, at least here in the more well to do part of the city.

"The symbol of the Valmont family," Bok informed Lyna.

"They are the kin of the Empress."

Lyna nodded.

 _So they were,_ she thought.

She glanced around at the fancily painted Orlesians their bright colors and fancy masks, most avoided her intense stare, the Dalish savage in their midst.

She smiled slightly.

Of course, the fact that she was Dalish might not have anything to do with their unwillingness to stare. Before entering the city she had dug out a tunic out of her pack, a gift from Alistair a year ago. The heavy gray fabric did its job of keeping off the morning chill, and the white griffon emblazoned on her chest kept the eyes of many gawkers away.

Alistair had smiled sadly as he held it up for her to see.

"Duncan told me about these," he said, "When he first came to Ferelden, he wore one to his first meeting with the king."

He handed her tunic.

"Might serve you will at all those political functions a warden commander has to go to," he said with a smirk.

He had laughed at the sick look she had given at that little comment. If anyone hated political functions more than Alistair, it had been her.

"Warden?"

She looked down. Bok was returning from one of the merchant's stalls, he held up a plain unmarked white mask.

The Dalish gave him a curious look.

The dwarf shrugged.

"In case you have not noticed, friend Lyna," he said, "Orlesians have a fascination with masks."

The dwarf smiled slightly.

"The important people of the city wear them, so…"

Lyna's ears twitched.

"You expect me to wear a mask?"

"It could not hurt," he said with a shrug, "Masks have an interesting history in Orlais. The Orlesians say that they allow them to be their true selves, plus they can also hide someone's identity, not a bad thing when you are being hunted. In fact it…"

He looked around.

"Ooh, look at **that!** "

The warden turned. A dwarven merchant sat by his stall in the shadows of one of the golden lions, swords and daggers of every type surrounded him.

Bok motioned for her to follow.

"Let's go check out his wares."

Curious, Lyna followed her companion. Esme was checking out a silk merchant's wares, while Royce did his best to keep his eye on the animals, Findel, and Kierhen.

When they were safely out of earshot of the others, the dwarf spoke more freely.

"See any familiar faces?" he asked.

Lyna's ears twitched.

"No. Why?"

The dwarf glanced around them.

"I've been thinking about what Kierhen told us back in the Exalted Plains, how we were being hunted."

"Yeah? So?" she said.

The dwarf pursed his lips.

"Well, according to Kierhen, someone has been aware of us since we first left Ferelden. I'm just trying to figure out how that came to pass."

He frowned.

"Tell me, dear warden, did you tell anyone about your decision to come Val Royeaux?"

Lyna frowned.

"I have a friend here, she works in the chantry. I wrote to her."

"Hm," Bok said tapping his lip.

"What," Lyna said.

"It may be nothing," he said, "Maybe everything."

She gave him an arched look.

"I trust my friend, master dwarf," she said, "She would not betray me."

"I never said your friend would betray you," he said raising his hands, "But I think we may have found out how we were discovered."

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

"My friend would **not** betray me," she repeated.

"I do not believe your friend **did** betray you," he said in a soothing voice, "But it is important to remember the chantry is a large place. Your letter might have passed through more hands than just your friends."

Lyna had been about to snarl an angry retort, when she considered what her friend was saying.

How many times had she been handed the Seneschal's private messages, she had never read them…but…

How many hands had her letter passed through? It was unlikely that Leliana retrieved it from the raven herself. What if some page had gotten curious, what if he had given it to another priest who had a deal with some noble to pass on any curious information?

Lyna frowned.

Bok was right, it was possible, someone could have read her letter to Leliana, and if that had happened…

Her trip to speak Brother Marcelle might have become a trap.

Bok picked up a dwarven mace; he turned it over in his hands inspecting the weight.

"There is another consideration you should make," he said conversationally, "You may not like it, but as a loyal hireling I think it is my duty to bring it up."

Lyna pretended to be interested in a new longsword.

"What consideration may that be?"

"Our Ranger friend," he said, "Who is to say that he is exactly what he claims to be."

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

"He helped us in that tavern?"

And by helping us, he is now travelling with us," Bok said, "He found us a mage, that knew him, and apparently a chantry sister for an ally, pretty enough, I might add, to distract our dear friend Royce."

Bok put down the mace.

"Who could say that this is not part of a larger plan on his part?"

Lyna's ears twitched, as she considered that.

"He might have been working with those men who attacked us, or with whoever hired them. He would have a much better shot at collecting the bounty on your head if he was with us."

"The why not try to kill us?"

"Maybe he is working for the person or persons who wants you alive, or perhaps he has his own agenda, and we just can't see it yet."

Lyna shook her head.

"Are you trying to turn me against the others, Bok?"

The dwarf shrugged.

"I merely wish you to be aware of what you are getting yourself into. People are not always honest. They have secrets, and their own agendas."

He gave her a concerned look.

"I merely wish for you to consider that."

He once again handed her the mask, she noticed that he had made changes to it with his dagger, skillfully cutting a series of symbols into it.

She gave him a questioning look.

He smiled again.

"Those markings mean that you are travelling under the protection of Orlais' Council of Heralds. Anyone in power sees that, they will know that you are under the protection of both the council and your order.

She smirked at him.

"And how would you know what markings this…council uses for its agents?"

Bok's smile widened.

"As I said, people have their secrets, even me."

Bok picked up the mace he had looked at earlier; he nodded to the stall's owner, and began to fish into his belt for coins.

Lyna beat him to it.

He gave her an arched look.

"For the advice," she said.

The dwarf nodded.

"Fair enough."

He took the mace, and they slowly began their walk back to the rest of their group.

Lyna slipped on the mask, and smiled down at her dwarven ally.

"One day, you will have tell me where a… _gentleman of the road_ learned about the Orlesian Council of Heralds."

Bok snorted with amusement.

"No," he said softly.

"I won't."

IOI

It did not take the group long to learn the location of the scholar's home. The owner of a café in the marketplace said that Brother Marcelle often stopped in for his morning tea. The group took a table near the back hoping to catch the man when he came in. Despite the crowds in the marketplace they had the small eatery mostly to themselves. Only the café owner and a young girl playing a lute across from them were there for most of the morning. By midafternoon the girl had left, and Lyna had grown impatient.

She could not learn what the brother knew if she never got the chance to meet with him.

The warden's eyes narrowed.

Despite the danger, she realized she would have to risk going to the scholar's home. If someone was waiting for her there, she would just have to deal with them and hope for the best.

As a group they left the café. Findel stayed close to Lyna while Royce brought up the rear with Sister Esme. Both Bok and Kierhen kept one hand on their weapons. Lyna had informed them all that they might be walking into a trap, and she wanted them all prepared.

Sister Esme offered a quick prayer for their protection.

Bok snorted at that.

"Please do not do that my good woman,' he advised, "It is bad luck."

The sister frowned but held her peace.

It was midafternoon by the time they reached the address that Leliana had provided them with. Lyna's gaze had been darting around every corner since they had left the so called…nicer part of the city.

She was a bit surprised to find such a learned man, lived in such a rough part of town.

The buildings became more run down as they made their way down the street. The smell of wood and waste filled their noses. Lyna tried to ignore it, but even she was bothered by stench…

The warden shook her head.

How could humans live like this?

They finally came to a small stone staircase leading down into a tiny apartment off the main street.

According to Leliana, this was where the scholar lived when he was staying in the capital.

Lyna looked down the shadow filled steps.

A cool shiver ran down her spine.

"Wait here," she told the others, and began the trip down.

She was surprised when she felt a slight tingle from her warden's senses, not much, but enough to keep her guard up. She had sensed nothing of darkspawn since reaching the city. It could have come from some relic in the brother's keeping, but…

Lyna paused before the door; she reached out with her warden's senses, probing for any threat.

Her elven ears twitched, as her heart began to pound.

She felt nothing.

She licked her lips and knocked on the door.

It was unlocked and creaked open.

Lyna drew her dagger and ax and dropped into a fighting crouch, her every sense, heightened, by a perceived threat.

She stepped into the room, her elven eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.

The scene before her did not please her.

The brother's home had been trashed, furniture smashed, book cases flipped over, drawers pulled out of cabinets their contents emptied on the floor.

Lyna crept into the room, feeling a slight flicker of anger at this violation.

She had come here seeking wisdom and now…now…

It looked like that wisdom may be lost.

She found what looked like a journal; it laid its cover wide open, as it lay flat on the floor.

Lyna picked it up and…

She jumped back; a gasp of surprise escaped her lips.

A face stared back at her, its yellowed skinned pulled taught against its skull, the mouth hung open in a look of pure fright. The eyes were white, boiled like a fish's that had spent too long on the cook fire.

Lyna

Eyes narrowed.

She had found Brother Marcelle.

Cursing under her breath, she slipped out of the man's home. Bok had not been wrong it seemed. Perhaps someone had read her letter to Leliana.

Read it, and took steps to prevent her speaking with Brother Marcelle.

A Dalish curse spit from between her teeth.

She was angry.

She felt cheated, but there was nothing she could do for the poor man now.

They needed to leave this place and quickly…

…Before someone got it into their heads to blame her for this.

She hurried up the steps and…

"Do not move Rabbit!"

Lyna froze weapons still in hand.

No less than twenty armed guardsman surrounded them. Royce, Bok and Kierhen already stood grouped together, their weapons removed.

Lyna glared at the guardsman, part of he wanted to resist, to fight their way out of this.

Fortunately, she knew better.

They were outnumbered.

Any fight now, would not end well.

She let the Orlesians take her arms.

"I'm a grey warden," she said, "You have no right to do this."

"Indeed," a cultured voice said behind her.

Lyna turned.

It was the girl from the tavern, the one with the lute.

She smiled sweetly.

No longer was the girl dressed in a simple gown, her leather armor with its silver buckles stood out starkly in the afternoon light. A pair of daggers with gold hilts sheathed at her belt suggested that she was no mere songstress. Her lips were curled into a cruel, yet amused smirk.

"So you are the Hero of Ferelden?" she said, "I expected someone…well…more."

Lyna glared at her.

The songstress laughed.

"Take them to the Grand Duke," she ordered.

The men nudged Lyna and the others forward.

Lyna never took her eyes off the girl, they promised swift retribution.

The girl did not seem to care.

"He has been expecting you."


	10. Guests and Bogeymen

**Chapter 10: Guests and Bogeymen**

"Well," Bok said with a jovial smirk, "As far as prisons go, this one is not bad."

The group was currently standing in a large sitting room. The noble estate that they had been brought to likely had many such rooms. Five or six large arm chairs sat around a large roaring fireplace. The portrait of a powerful looking Orlesian knight, stared out over the room. The floor was covered with thick fur rugs.

It was hardly a prison, unless you wanted to kill your prisoners with luxury.

Lyna's eyes narrowed slightly. The warden was still not quite sure what to make of all this. First they had been arrested at sword point…

…and now…this.

It didn't make sense.

Bok swaggered over to small table with a large wine decanter, and several empty goblets.

He poured himself a generous drink and downed it in almost one gulp.

A second or two later, the dwarf belched.

Esme rolled her eyes and shook her head. Royce gave the dwarf a dirty look, while Kierhen snorted and let his eyes drift around the room, looking for possible escape routes.

Findel watched the dwarf with a merry smile on his face.

Such a look was enough to get Bok's attention.

"What?" he asked the elven mage.

Findel chuckled.

"Nothing," he sneered, "Just waiting to see how fast it takes you to keel over after drinking such a large helping of likely poisoned drink."

Bok regarded the goblet thoughtfully then shrugged.

"Wine has killed before," he admitted, "But I doubt there is any more poison in this than there is in any other glass of wine."

Royce's brow furrowed.

"Really," the warrior said, "How do you figure that?"

Bok's smile widened.

"If our captors wished us dead, they could have killed us outside the scholar's home. Maker knew; they had the perfect excuse. A pack of armed foreigners standing outside the home of a dead Orlesian scholar…"

Bok shook his head.

"No city guard would have questioned them if they had done us all in. Yet, they chose not to do that. They disarmed us, yes, but left us our armor. They could have blindfolded us for our journey here yet they did not even try to hide the fact that we were being taken into the wealthier part of the city. Now… look at our current accommodations. Why are we not all locked in cells? Why choose to leave only a handful of guards outside the door, while we are left to our own devices in here?"

Bok shook his head again.

"No, friend Royce," he said, "No, I do not believe we are in any danger here, at least not yet. Perhaps our host/captor wishes us to relax before the real interrogations starts, but once again that does not fit what has happened to us so far…"

Bok poured himself another drink.

"No," he said taking only a tiny sip this time.

"I would say our captors have other things on their minds besides simply killing us."

Esme shivered and looked around. Royce, looking worried offered her his cloak.

"So we she not be worried that we're in a trap?" she inquired.

Again Bok chuckled.

"If this is all a trap, then were all stuck in it," he shrugged, "Might as well eat the cheese while our host decides his next move."

Lyna considered what the dwarf said. Bok made many interesting points. Had their captors wanted them dead, they would be dead, but that did not mean that they were not in danger. That bard leading those guards, and yes, Lyna believed without a shadow of a doubt that the girl was a bard, suggested that whoever she was working for wanted them all alive…for now.

The warden's elven ears twitched.

Could the bard's employer be the one who had put the live bounty on her head? Possible she supposed…

…She would just have to ask him about when they met.

Whoever was holding them, the bard must have sent word ahead to tend their needs. The wine decanter was full, and sitting off to one corner of the room was two large metal bowls filled with water.

…Refreshments for the Ranger's wolf and her Mabari, no doubt.

Lyna snorted.

Wasn't their captor a generous one?

So far this experience was quite honeyed…

She suspected that the bitterness would come later.

"Whoever brought us here wants something," the warden said with a sigh.

Esme looked at her.

"Why would you think that?"

Lyna rolled her eyes.

"From experience," she grumbled, "When I wasn't fighting darkspawn during the Blight I was running around doing odd jobs for people."

The warden shook her head.

"Alistair and I were pretty much gophers, go for this, go for that. My child is lost in the deep roads. I need this retrieved from an old ruin. I need every abomination killed in the circle tower."

The warden shook her head.

"The wondrous life of an adventurer," she said with sigh.

"Ugh!"

Kierhen kneeled before one of the water dishes, and tasted its contents. He held the contents in his mouth before spitting it into the fire.

Lyna gave him a quizzical look.

"It is not poisoned," he informed her, "Unless the poison is more subtle than anything else I've encountered."

The warden nodded.

So the hospitality extended to their animal companions too.

Interesting.

Both Arrow and Lady went to their respective bowls and drank.

Esme kneeled down next to the fire, warming her hands; the evening air had been very cold on their journey here.

Royce stayed close to her, his eyes never drifting far from her side.

Lyna frowned.

Bok had warned her about this too. He had mentioned on how he thought the young sister may be a distraction for their warrior ally.

When they got out of this, if they got out of this, she would need to pull the sister aside and talk to her. This undertaking was no place for those that could not fight, fend for themselves, or contribute to the group.

She would need to evaluate the sister's skills at the earliest convenience.

Kierhen was standing at the room's one lone window. They were about five stories up, with a straight down drop to a stone courtyard below.

No escape that way, unless someone was born with wings, or could grow a pair when she needed them.

The warden shook her head.

Morrigan would not have been caged so easily. In times like this, she envied the witch's skill to shapeshift.

Such abilities would come in handy in times like this.

She walked over to Kierhen. The ranger gave her an arched look.

"Keep an eye on the boy," she whispered, "If things take a turn for the worst…"

The Ranger nodded.

She did not need to say anymore.

The ranger was quick enough to reach the needed conclusions quickly, praise the Creators.

It was at that moment that door they had been led through opened again. The bard stood before them, still armed and armored, and backed up by two armored warriors.

She smiled at Lyna.

"My patron would like a word with you warden," she cooed, "If you would be so kind as to follow me."

Bok clasped his hands.

"Ah good," he said, "It would be nice to greet our generous host."

The bard sneered at him.

"My patron would prefer to meet with the warden…alone."

Kierhen started walking towards her.

"I'm sure he would," the ranger said with no little hint of menace in his voice.

The bard's hands drifted to her daggers.

Lyna raised her hand.

"I would be delighted to meet with your…patron," she said, "Provided my companions are looked after in the meantime of course."

The bard's smile became less predatory.

"You are all in no danger," she said, "My patron merely wished you taken off the street before…you caught the attention of…other interested parties."

Lyna digested what the bard had said.

Few people had known she was coming to Val Royeaux, fewer still knew she was seeking out the now dead Brother Marcelle.

It seemed that there was more going on here than she realized.

Perhaps the woman's employer could shed more light on the subject.

It seemed that she had little choice but to play along.

"Lead the way," she informed the bard, "I'm eager to make your employer's acquaintance."

"He will be most pleased, warden," she said with a slight curtsey.

She looked over Lyna's shoulder at her companions.

"You will all be given a chance to freshen up after my patron finishes with his meeting."

She gave them another cruel smile.

"In the meantime, please enjoy our hospitality."

One of the guards behind her opened the door and she motioned for Lyna to follow her, the warden gave the bard one final look before stepping out into the hall.

The bard joined her, followed closely by her two escorts, the last man out closed and locked the door anew.

Lyna looked at the other woman.

"I don't suppose your patron has a name," she inquired.

"All in good time, warden," the bard answered.

"All in good time."

IOI

Kierhen frowned as the bard led Lyna from the room.

So far the ranger was not pleased with how things were going.

When he had joined up with the Hero of Ferelden he had hoped for…well…more.

He glanced over at Findel; the boy was watching the closed door.

When he spoke, he sounded nothing like the arrogant little shit they had been travelling with.

"Do you think she will be all right?"

The ranger pursed his lips.

For a moment, the boy sounded like a scared child, which is exactly what he was. He had power, but that was still in its infancy. It would take time for the young mage to realize his full potential.

That is what this was all about…potential.

Kierhen had his own masters after all, people that promised much if he obeyed them. Findel could become a valuable ally if trained just so. Lyna was…

Kierhen shook his head.

Lyna was not what he expected.

He had spent much of his life hating the Dalish, hating them for what had happened to his father. Those he now served had promised to see the Dalish brought low when their dreams were realized.

Lyna would not like that, he suspected, which was of course, why he was here. The hero of Ferelden was a symbol to the elvhen people.

If his masters could control her, then their dreams would be much easier to realize.

It was his task to make sure that she did join them, if not…

The Ranger swallowed hard.

If not, she would have to be removed…for the greater good.

A hard choice to be sure…

…but…a necessary one.

IOI

The girl led her down one long hallway after another.

Lyna's eyes took in every little detail they passed, if this did turn into a fight she wanted to know exactly how to make it back to the others.

The bard said nothing as they continued their journey. Two guards walked in front of them two more behind, with the girl at the warden's side.

Lyna frowned.

If escape was possible it would not be easy.

They finally came to a heavy oak door at the end of a hallway. The bard motioned her forward while the two guards ahead of them took up positions next to it.

The girl knocked loudly.

"Enter," a cultured Orlesian voice responded from within.

The bard smiled.

She opened the door and motioned for Lyna to step inside.

The warden complied, but did so with the utmost care.

The room was smaller than the one that her friends had been taken to. The type of room a noble man might come to get paperwork done. The walls were dotted with many hunting trophies, animal heads and pelts from throughout Thedas.

At the far end of the room, sitting at a small oak desk was their host. A broad shouldered man with short cropped hair, and the half mask of an Orlesian noble. The finery he wore was more uniform than simple noble dress. His jacket gleamed with gold medals.

The man looked up and smiled at her.

"Lyna of the Grey Wardens, I presume?" he said in clipped Orlesian accent.

She nodded and crossed her arms over her heart in the traditional warden greeting.

She bowed slightly to her host.

"I am she," she replied, "May I ask who you are?"

The man chuckled.

"Forgive me," he said with an amused smile, "I'm too used to people knowing me I sight. I am Grand Duke Gaspard De Chalons, heir to the throne of Orlais.

He rose from his desk and offered her a military style bow.

"May I be the first to officially welcome you to Orlais."

Lyna crossed her arms across her chest.

She expected that this would end with a person of power, but the heir to the throne?

 _My, my,_ she thought.

 _I am moving up in the world._

The Grand Duke rose and offered her his hand.

"I do hope you excuse the rather…harshness of my invitation warden," he continued, "But it was necessary to get you off the street, before your presence drew…much darker attentions."

Lyna was still suspicious, but offered the noble her hand, rather than shaking it, he brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckle chastely.

She smirked.

If the Grand Duke wanted to play this civilly, fine.

She could do civil.

"Your…invitation was a bit unorthodox, Your Grace," she cooed, "But I suspect that you have your reasons."

"More than you realize," he said, "You have drawn attention warden, dangerous attention…"

The Grand Duke pursed his lips.

"I could not allow you to suffer the same fate as poor Brother Marcelle. You are a fellow warrior after all…

The noble shook his head.

"No warrior deserves to die like that."

Lyna's ears twitched with curiosity.

"I take it that your men did not kill Brother Marcelle?"

The Grand Duke laughed.

"You speak plainly warden," he said, "A rarity here in Orlais."

Lyna bowed her head slightly.

"I meant no offense…"

"None taken," the Grand Duke replied, "It has been a long time since I had the chance to speak with someone so openly. My dear cousin Celene enjoys her games too much to permit such candid debate…"

Gaspard shook his head.

"Under me, the court would have been quite different."

Lyna pursed her lips; she had no desire to get drawn into Orlesian politics. All she wanted now was answers.

Hopefully the Grand Duke would be willing to give her them.

"Given how quickly your men showed up at Brother Marcelle's I'm guessing you were watching him?"

"Indeed," the noble replied.

"May I ask why?"

Gaspard snorted.

"You may indeed," he said, "But first, let us have a drink, talking about such dark things are made less dark with right application of alcohol."

He smiled again.

"May I offer you an Antivan Brandy, or would you prefer Dalish spring wine?"

Lyna's eyes widened.

Where would a shemlen have gotten Dalish spring wine?"

Gaspard seemed to guess what she was thinking.

The noble chuckled.

"An old friend of my commands a small garrison on the Nevarran border. There is a Dalish clan that wanders the woods not far from there. These Dalish are willing to trade with the dwarves who supply the garrison, among their best trade goods is their wine."

His smile widened.

"I take it that you would not mind a glass?"

Lyna's head bobbed in the affirmative.

Still smiling, the Grand Duke poured two glasses.

The Grand Duke finished his in two gulps. Lyna was more careful, she savored the smell of the liquor; let it sit on her tongue, enjoying the sweet taste.

The drink made her shiver.

It had been far too long.

Gaspard returned to his seat, but not before pouring himself a second glass. The noble man stared into the fire; even with his mask Lyna could tell he was troubled.

The Warden's brow furrowed.

Whatever was going on, it was clear that the Grand Duke was not entirely pleased with their meeting.

The noble sighed.

"Tell me warden," he began, "Do you know what he bogeyman is?"

Lyna nodded.

"A human legend," she said, "A monster that preys on unruly children."

"A good a definition as any," the Grand Duke said, "But here in Orlais, it is no mere myth, at least not for one who is close to the royal court.

Gaspard's eyes narrowed.

"The court has been bothered by this particular bogeyman for almost sixty years. He appears and vanishes with little rhyme or reason, but always death follows him."

The Grand Duke gave her a sad smile.

He leaned back in his chair and began to recite:

 _Beware the Count of Light._

 _He brings death for any slight_

 _If his path you should cross._

 _Embrace your fear, and accept that you are lost._

 _There is nowhere that you can flee._

 _Across the world, his eyes can see._

 _You will vanish without a trace._

 _Evil always keeps its pace._

 _Beware the Count of Light._

 _He brings death for any slight._

Gaspard shook his head.

"My mother used to threaten Celene and I with that rhyme when we were young. I used to think it funny, at least until I saw him…the Count of Light."

Lyna's ears twitched.

"Who is this count?"

Gaspard shook his head.

"He is an enigma, warden. He is a monster and a legend all rolled into one. He is Comte Julien Lumiere, former occult advisor to Emperor Florian, and nightmare to many Orlesian children."

The Grand Duke sighed.

"He recently returned to the royal court, after not having been seen in almost six years. I tried to find out why, what could possibly bring the old bogeyman back after all this time.

Gaspard finished his drink.

"Everything my people found, pointed to you," the Grand Duke gave her a sad smile, "When my agents along the border reported that a warden matching your description had crossed, I knew now why the Comte had returned.

The noble shook his head.

"The Count of Light is after you, warden."

"You have my sympathies."


	11. Evils Old and New

**Chapter 11: Evils Old and New**

 **PAIN!**

 _Not the pain of living, that was something that did not bother her anymore. No, this was different, so many wounds so many burns, cuts, and punctures. Arrows in the mouth and eyes, scales ripped off by many sharpened blades…_

 _She staggered, growling. Regeneration was still possible but it was no longer easy. The damage was too extensive, and the attacks continued. The enemy refused to stop._

 _ **Protect,**_ _she whispered._

 _It was a whisper that turned into a song, a song that filled the minds of the slaves._

 _They would stop the enemy._

 _They would give her time._

 _ **Protect! Protect! Protect!**_

 _ **OBEY!**_

 _The slaves were swarming the attackers but it was not enough. One of the enemies, a tiny blonde thing with pointed ears broke away from the slaves…_

 _The tiny one ran at her, a blade larger than her in her hands._

 _She tried to stand, tried to cast a spell or breathe fire, but the wounds were too great, her movement too sluggish!_

 _She snapped at the tiny one, but the little enemy was too fast, far too fast._

 _The enemy brought up its blade, slicing deep into her throat, and chest._

 _She roared to the heavens! Agony replaced pain, agony that made it impossible to fly._

 _She slumped to the ground wounded, no longer able to stand._

 _The little one stood over her, covered in black blood, her blood…_

… _A feral gleam in its eyes._

 _She struggled hissing, still trying to rise._

 _Protect, she sang out._

 _ **PROTECT!**_

 _ **OBEY!**_

 _The slaves were not close enough, and even if they were…_

 _They would not stop the enemy._

 _The tiny creature raised its blade, a wild scream wailed from its lips._

 _She tried to back away, to rise, to conquer, but…but…_

 _It was no longer possible._

 _The end had come!_

 _ **NO!**_

 _ **AWAY,**_ _she snarled through the song, the blonde enemy could hear her._

 _She would listen._

 _ **AWAY! AWAY! AWAY!**_

 _The blade came down._

 _ **AWAY! AWAY! AWAY!**_

IOI

"AWAY!" Lyna cried out into the shadows.

The warden bolted, sat upright in bed, her heart pounding in her ears.

It took her a moment to remember where she was. She …she had been reading, stretching out on the lovely feather bed.

The others by now were all asleep in their rooms. The Grand Duke had offered them sanctuary for the time being. He still believed that Comte Lumiere's men were on the prowl for her.

He had taken it upon himself to shield them, to keep the bogey man from his prey.

Lyna was not sure why the man was doing this. He claimed that doing so provided him with amusement, and that it was because he had no love of the Comte, that the man's presence in Orlais was too disruptive.

By helping her escape, the Grand Duke hoped that the man would turn his attentions elsewhere, freeing the Orlesian court of his foul presence.

Lyna suspected…another motive.

The warden knew fear. She had seen it many times. Felt its icy touch many times.

Grand Duke Gaspard **feared** this so called "Count of Light."

Perhaps by aiding her, he was trying to face his fear, either that, or he only desired her to leave, so the Comte would have to leave Orlais to pursue her.

The Dalish rubbed her tired eyes.

Yes, she knew what it was to fear a monster.

She relived that fear every time she closed her eyes.

The darkspawn were always there, and through them…the ghost of the Archdemon.

She tried to take a deep breath, to will away the pain, to forget the sound of the blade falling. The fact that it had been her blade did not take away from the fear she felt, the anger at what had happened.

She took another deep breath.

These were not her thoughts, not her emotions; they had come from the beast, the Archdemon…

…and the Archdemon was dead, it could not harm her now. Only the echo of its thoughts remained.

Thoughts could not hurt her…and they were all that was left…

She pursed her lips.

Perhaps thoughts were not the only thing that was left.

There was also the song, the song was always there. The song had been with her ever since that night on Fort Drakon. She had tried to ignore it but…

 _It never went away!_

The Dalish took a shuddering breath.

 _She feared it never would!_

She took a deep shuddering breath trying to center herself. Her wool nightgown stuck to her body, her sheets were damp with sweat.

A dream, she thought to herself.

It was nothing but a dream.

Of course, she knew better, it was more than that. It was the same dream that had haunted her sleep since the night she had slain the Archdemon. At first the dream had come to her every night. It haunted her night time world with the beast's final moments…

She should have died too; perhaps it would have been better if she had.

She had done her duty that day, but had still thought to cheat the friend of the dead of his prize.

Now…she was paying for that arrogance.

Now she was paying.

She pushed back the covers and went to the window of rather opulent bedroom.

The sounds of the city did little to calm her troubled mind, but still, she welcomed them.

A city was life, after all.

She really wanted to be a part of life right now.

" _You find this relaxing?"_ she could almost see Tamlen standing there, and amused smile on his face.

Lyna Mahariel, daughter of the Sabrae clan, needing a shemlen city to feel safe?

She could almost see him shaking his head.

" _You have grown soft, lethallin."_

She tried to push such thoughts out of her head. Tamlen was gone; as was the Dalish hunter she was when she had first found that mirror. The woman she had become was someone far different from what she had thought she would be by now.

She would not diminish what she had done during the Blight. She had lost too much to ever go back to being the carefree elf she had been back then.

She had changed, yes, but that did not mean that she was less because of that change.

She was a warden, the slayer of the Archdemon.

No one could take that away from her. She had given of herself to save her people, to save everyone.

It was a sacrifice she had made willingly…and she was not afraid of the consequences.

She was not afraid.

She could live with the dreams, and the song.

She took another cleansing breath.

She could deal with it.

After the battle of Fort Drakon, the warden mages from Orlais had examined her. For the first time in history, a warden had survived striking the final blow against an Archdemon…

It was not surprising that her fellow wardens were curious of how that was done.

They had done many tests, but found nothing. When told about the dreams they told her that it was nothing that she need worry about…

The Archdemon was dead.

It could not hurt her anymore.

Lyna took another shuddering breath.

She wished that she could believe them.

She truly did.

The Archdemon's soul had passed through her, they did not doubt that. What she was experiencing now was an echo. They were simple leftovers from the beasts passing…memories, feelings, thoughts that had been fresh in the beast's mind.

They saw no danger in those thoughts.

The warden mages believed those echoes, like all echoes, would fade with time.

So far that had not happened.

Lyna's mouth became a grim line.

She could still hear the Archdemon sometimes, what was left of it whispering in her head, and in her dreams.

She sighed.

It was not something easily ignored, she tried not to listen, but sometimes, she could almost make out the words…almost.

A shiver ran down her spine, she held herself trying hard not to be afraid. Fear could be healthy after all, she knew. As long as you did not let it control you.

They were just dreams.

They weren't real.

She sniffed, wiping at her eyes, pushing back tears before they could become more than just a thought.

She sometimes feared she was going mad. The nightmare about the Archdemon's final moments continued to haunt her. At first it had been once a week, now it once every three months or so…

She wished that she could say she was happy about that.

Her elven ears lowered slightly.

Perhaps it would have been better had she died that day…?

Perhaps?

The Dalish's ears lowered, an angry snarl escaped her lips.

Stop it, she thought.

Stop it right now!

She took another deep breath, the song retreated back into where it had come from, only a slight buzzing remained.

Lyna had grown used to that.

She stood a little straighter.

She was no coward. She had faced a great darkness and won!

She would not let herself be destroyed by that evil's echo.

The Archdemon was dead, that was for the best. It freed her up to engage new foes, to protect those she cared about from harm.

Her mouth turned into a grim sneer.

She would have to find a way to stop this Comte Lumiere.

It would not be easy, the Grand Duke had said.

The Count of Light's reach was quite long.

IOI

Over dinner, she and Gaspard had talked about the man. The Grand Duke thought it best that she and her allies knew exactly who it was that was after them. Much of what he knew was simple speculation, but at least some of it was drawn from hard facts.

Julien Lumiere was a shadow falling over the warden and her companions.

It was best that they knew what that meant.

Gaspard did his best to describe the man. He was a widower, in the first few years of his ninetieth decade. He was quite tall, over six feet tall, silver haired with sunken cheeks and cold black eyes.

The Comte had first appeared over sixty years ago. He had been a young man then, fighting to keep Ferelden under the shroud of the Empire.

During that time, he had burned several Fereldan villages. Every man, woman, and child put to the sword. It was said that the Comte had witnessed each and every death personally, that in watching them die he learned clues about the future, clues that led him to even greater military victories.

"Was he a mage?' Sister Esme had asked the Grand Duke.

Gaspard chuckled.

"That had been suggested sister, but any Templar that tried to get close enough to see died a horrible death."

The Grand Duke shook his head.

"After a while, such attempts stopped. The man was winning victories for Orlais."

"In the eyes of the Empire that was all that mattered."

"The man spent almost a decade in Ferelden; he had conducted dozens of campaigns, all of them successful, which is why the Emperor made him a Comte. He returned home a conquering hero. For the next ten years after that, he attended fetes and solons of the Orlesian nobility.

Gaspard chuckled.

"The nobles expected a hero, what they got was something quite different. It was during this time that people began vanishing around him, thus building his rather…curious reputation. According to records the Comte married sometime during that period, but his wife died shortly after their first year of marriage."

Lyna's ears twitched.

"Did he ever remarry?" she asked.

"Twice more," Gaspard said taking a fresh goblet of wine. "Once more before the loss of Ferelden, and then one after, both of his wives lived only about a year or so after the wedding. Their siblings suffered many misfortunes as well. Soon all the wealth and power of their families were absorbed into the Comte's personal holdings. My agents believed that the man did sire children, but no one knows how many, or what they might be doing now. The Comte always preferred to keep his business secret."

Gaspard snorted.

"The Comte is a very wealthy man, no one doubts that, but nowhere will you find his name on any land deeds, business contracts, or family heraldries."

Bok frowned.

"So the man is a ghost?"

Gaspard smiled at him.

"A very dangerous ghost, master dwarf," the grand duke said, "A very dangerous ghost indeed."

The Grand Duke slumped down in his chair.

"Shortly before the death of Ferelden's Rebel Queen, Lumiere was summoned to Val Royeaux. Emperor Florian had heard tales of the man's…exploits. The Comte impressed him, and soon he had been named Occult advisor to the Court of Orlais."

Gaspard shivered.

"I saw him only once, when Celene and I were children. My father pointed him out to me during a ball at the Winter Palace. He saw me watching him, and he smiled at me."

The Grand Duke took a hard drink of wine.

"I had nightmares about that man's smile for weeks."

"The Comte served as occult advisor until a few weeks before Emperor Florian's death, after that he vanished from court. Six years ago, he returned briefly. It was during a Funalis celebration. "

Gaspard's brow furrowed.

"A young chevalier named Guy tried to make a name for himself at the Comte's expense. He challenged the Comte to duel over a slight the young man's family had suffered twenty years earlier. Keep in mind, the Comte was in his mid-eighties by this point."

Lyna frowned.

"What happened?"

Gaspard shook his head.

"The boy lasted only a minute. The Comte was a skilled duelist in his youth. Apparently advanced age did not diminish his skills."

The Comte stuck his dueling blade through the boy's throat. As he lay dying, he picked up the chevaliers long sword and beheaded him."

The Grand Duke gave her a cool look.

"Does that knowledge frighten you, warden, that a man in his eighties could do that to a boy in his prime?"

She nodded slightly.

It was enough to give her pause.

Gaspard smiled slightly.

"Good," he said, "Underestimating this man would be a very fatal mistake."

Lyna did her best to digest what she heard.

What the Grand Duke was telling her was…intriguing to say the least.

Still…she preferred a second opinion on the man. Someone she could trust.

Fortunately she knew someone quite versed in Orlesian stories.

When the Comte had resurfaced, Gaspard sent his agents to find out why. It was through a bit of bribery that he had learned about the Comte's interest in Brother Marcelle. Gaspard had sent his bard to keep an eye on the man, the same bard they had met in the tavern. Sabine was her name.

Sabine had spent two weeks…observing Brother Marcelle, during that time she had copied or stolen several of his manuscripts. The Brother, so enthralled by her company had not missed them. By stealing those tomes, the girl had saved them from being destroyed or taken along with the rest of Marcelle's work.

Lyna had asked to see them, the Grand Duke had been more than happy to oblige.

It had been those manuscripts that she had dozed off reading.

She had been…grateful for the man's willingness to aid them.

The Grand Duke brushed off such thanks with a shrug. He was more than happy to aid a fellow warrior. He had even gone so far as to offer Lyna his bard, should she require anything more from the capital.

Lyna had smiled at that offer.

In fact, she did have a job for the girl, a job that she could not trust to any simple messenger.

The next day, she had sent the girl to the Grand Cathedral. She was ordered not to stop until she had found a certain sister on the new Divine's staff.

It would not be easy, she realized, but at the same time, she had no other option.

It was time to see her old friend again.

The warden almost chuckled. Once she had called the woman crazy, now she saw her as one of her best friends.

Sabine swore that she would not fail.

The warden did not doubt her.

The girl would find her friend.

The girl would return with Leliana.


	12. An Old Friend

**Chapter 12: An Old Friend**

"So, who is this Leliana shem anyway?"

The rest of their party looked up from whatever it was they were doing. Royce and Bok had been playing chess. Kierhen had been sitting in the corner making arrows.

Sister Esme frowned and tilted her head.

Despite the fact that he believed that he did not care what anyone else thought. Findel blushed and lowered his head.

Three days had passed since their "capture" by the Grand Duke's men, though it was hard to say if they were still prisoners. The Orlesian had offered them the protection and hospitality of his house. He had even released his bard into Lyna's service; the girl had been running errands for the warden since yesterday.

The man had even offered to help them slip out of Orlais, before this Count of Light Shem could come up with a plan to stop them. Findel was not sure he believed the Grand Duke's tales about the man. Most shems were monsters in his eyes after all…

…The fact that one was more frightening than most did not come as a surprise.

Findel had never had any use for human tales, which is why he had asked his question in the first place.

 _Now…now…_

His blush deepened.

They were **all** staring at him, which made even more blood rush into his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears.

"What?" he said defensively, "The Keeper never told us much about the people that helped end the Blight."

Perhaps it was because of her calling, or maybe just her desire to not embarrass the boy further, Esme chose to answer his question.

"Leliana is a lay sister of the chantry," she informed the boy, "She left her home in the village of Lothering to help the wardens fight the Blight."

The boy sneered at that.

"I wasn't aware that one of the people needed the aid of the shemlen god."

Royce rolled his eyes at the boy's attitude.

"It never hurts to accept help lad," the warrior reminded him.

Findel still sneered.

Royce ignored him.

"According to the tales she is also an accomplished archer, one of the best in Thedas."

"She is also said to be quite beautiful," Bok chimed in, "I have heard it said that many hearts broke when those passing through the village of Lothering realized that the woman had bound herself to the chantry."

Findel sniffed at that.

"They would say that wouldn't they," he said, "Whoever it is **they** are."

Kierhen looked up from his work, a half finished arrow in hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?" the ranger asked.

The boy snorted.

"Shems need to wrap their heroes in the light of their Maker," he replied shaking his head.

He glared at sister Esme who sat across from him; she had been trying to teach him how to control his magic. The exercise that they were attempting was supposed to help him learn how to manipulate flame.

The lesson was not going well.

The boy rolled his eyes.

What did some sister know about magic anyway? She said that her brother had been a mage, but that didn't mean that she understood anything!

The chantry looked down its nose at anyone with magic, how could any of their number know what it was like?

How could they know anything?

Findel took it upon himself to enlighten them.

"Humans like to talk about their benevolent god," he growled, "Their kind and loving Maker, but where was the kindness when they broke their prophet's promise? Where was their compassion when our cities were raised, when they hunted or warriors to extinction, and dragged our people off to live as beggars in their cities?"

His cold and angry eyes fell on Esme.

She quailed under his angry look.

"Where was the Maker's vaunted compassion when your village decided to burn me alive?"

The words struck the sister like a lash.

She winced.

"I tried to stop them," she said.

Royce was on his feet in seconds.

"You ungrateful brat," he snarled.

The boy sneered.

"I'm not saying anything that the sister has not thought already, have I sister?"

Esme did not reply; she did not meet the boy's eyes.

"I'm only trying to help you," she murmured.

Findel's elven ears lay back like an angry cat.

"And all I'm doing is telling the truth," he hissed.

Behind them Kierhen chuckled.

Findel turned to him.

"Did I say something amusing thin-blood?"

The ranger sneered at the boy.

"Indeed," he said, "You act like the elven gods are so much better than the human's one god."

Kierhen shook his head.

"You would be surprised, if you knew the truth."

The boy rose from where he had been sitting, he walked up to the Ranger, who leaned back in his chair, unafraid of the young mage's anger.

"And what truth is that?" he asked.

The Ranger held up the arrow head he had been working on, he barely seemed to care that he had angered a boy that could burn his hair off with a gesture.

Kierhen smiled.

"I have been many places boy," he said, "Seen the ruins of the elvhen, seen the evidence with my own eyes."

He shook his head.

"The elves had their own kingdom once. How do you think kingdoms are built boy, how do you thing they are ruled. How do you think they are held?"

Kierhen's eyes narrowed.

"How many people died on the borders of the Dales in the names of elvhen sovereignty? How many travesties did the elves carry out in the name of the Creators?"

The Ranger sighed.

"Human's believe their god turned his back on them because they disappointed him. The elvhen gods had to be locked away. Why do you think that was?"

Findel's eyes flashed.

"They were betrayed," he hissed, "We were all betrayed! Fen'Harel…he…"

Kierhen was on his feet in seconds.

He slapped the boy across the face.

Hard.

Esme gasped.

Findel's eyes widened in shock.

Kierhen glared at the boy.

"Don't you speak that name," he hissed, "You know nothing of the Dread Wolf, nothing…"

He glanced around at his companions. They were all speechless, never had the Ranger shown this kind of emotion before.

Findel touched his cheek, still unable to speak.

The Ranger pushed past him and left the room.

For a moment there was only silence.

IOI

Bok chuckled.

"Well," the dwarf said with a nervous laugh.

"Wasn't that interesting?"

Sister Esme got to her feet, she went Findel. The boy was still rubbing his cheek, which was starting to turn red.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

She reached out to touch him, but the boy pushed her away.

Hissing in anger, he pushed past her, on the way to his room.

She was about to go after him, but Royce stopped her.

"Let the boy alone," he advised.

She gave him a concerned look.

"But he…"

Bok chuckled.

"He is a teenager," the dwarf said, "Let him have his drama."

The dwarf looked out into the hall.

He frowned slightly.

"What set our dear Ranger friend off, I wonder?"

Royce looked at Esme, who only shook her head.

They had not been travelling with the Ranger long enough to know what was going on in his head.

Whatever it was, one thing was certain.

It was something that Kierhen cared deeply about, cared…or…

…feared.

IOI

Lyna sat in her room. She had returned their just after dinner. The Grand Duke had left to attend some court function, leaving her and her companions to their own devices.

She was pleased with that, she was grateful for the man's help, but…

She would be happy to be away from here. She had been around enough human nobles to know when they were playing power games.

She preferred not to be his pawn for much longer.

She glanced down at the page before her. Of all the manuscripts that the bard Sabine had copied, this latest one intrigued her the most.

It gave her two possible destinations on the next leg of her mission.

The first spoke of a legend in the city of Kirkwall, a store that no one could find except by invitation. This place…this Black Emporium as it was called was supposed to be run by a creature of great knowledge, a scholar who by unknown means had somehow managed to achieve immortality.

According to Brother Marcelle's notes, he had visited this place once. That the creature, this Xenon the Antiquarian had shared much with him, the old one was said to be in possession of some very interesting tomes on the past Blights, included in these tomes were reference to experiments regarding the taint itself.

Lyna smiled slightly.

She hoped that this Xenon still had them.

She would like to read them herself.

Second, among the Brother's many notes she found references to experiments carried out on caging darkspawn for further study. The Author, a Warden Commander who lived sometimes after the second Blight, had been very curious on how the Archdemon's song affected the warden mind.

The warden had supposedly served in a warden tower somewhere in the Vimmark Mountains, a tower that might still stand today.

Lyna figured it might be a good idea to visit such a place. If the wardens had kept records, some might remain in that place.

It was worth a look at least. It…

There was a knock at her door.

Lyna's elven ears twitched.

"Yes," she called out.

"It is Sabine, warden;" the bard called back, "Your guest has arrived."

Lyna smiled slightly.

"Enter," she called out, "please."

The door opened.

Sabine entered and stepped aside. Behind her came a hooded chantry sister. The red and white robes flowed around the woman as she walked her tread more akin to a cat than a priest.

The woman removed her hood, revealing short red hair, cut into the style preferred by Ferelden farm folk. He blue eyes sparkled with pleasure and mischief, her mouth curled into slight smile.

"Hello Lyna," she said.

"Leliana," the Dalish said with a frosty tone.

The warden frowned.

Leliana's smile vanished.

Lyna glanced behind her old companion, at the bard Sabine.

"Leave us," she ordered.

The bard bowed deeply and fled, leaving the two women facing each other.

The warden crossed her arms, her eyes taking in her old companion and her fancy new robes.

"Lyna?" the sister said, her own frown becoming more pronounced, not understanding her reception.

The warden stepped forward, the sister almost started to back up.

"Is something wrong?" Leliana asked.

Lyna said nothing.

The sister swallowed hard, she…

The warden sprang.

Leliana started to raise her hand to defend herself… but it was unnecessary.

The warden pulled her into a tight bear hug.

The sister gasped, fear giving way to relief.

"Thank the Maker," she sighed.

She felt the warden giggle into her shoulder.

"What?" she said pulling back and grinning, "You thought I was going to hit you or something?"

Leliana gave her a gentle smile.

"Considering what happened the last time I held this little item, I feared you might."

Lyna looked down; the sister was holding a small Dalish amulet. The same one that Lyna had worn since the day she had left her clan.

The same one her mother had left for her the day she was born.

The Dalish took it from her friend and put it back around her neck.

"I figured you would recognize it," the warden said, "I needed to make sure you would believe that the girl had come from me, and not the Grand Duke."

Leliana chuckled.

"I'm just glad you are not throwing anything at me for touching it," she said glancing around the room.

"You don't have any potatoes handy in here do you?"

The warden blushed.

When they had first left Lothering together, Lyna had made the mistake of leaving the amulet hanging on a tree while she washed up. Leliana had found it and brought it to her. Back then…Lyna had been extremely mistrustful of what she saw as the crazy sister in their midst, not to mention still a little crazy herself after first losing first Tamlen, her clan, and then barely surviving the battle of Ostagar.

In her madness, she had accused the sister of trying to steal from her; she had chased Leliana around their camp, throwing potatoes they had just purchased at her. In the end Sten had had to restrainer her.

Lyna gave her friend a sheepish look.

"It wasn't one of my best moments," she said.

Leliana giggled.

"At least we got through it."

The warden smiled.

"That we did."

Lyna looked her friend up and down, despite the fancy robes, Leliana remained the same person who had travelled over most of Ferelden with her, but at the same time, there was a change. She seemed calmer, more confident.

"Serving the Divine seems to agree with you, Lethallan."

Leliana smiled.

"Her Perfection and I are old friends, Lyna," she said with a hint of pride. "Justinia wants to do more for Thedas. Beatrix, Andraste keep her, did little in the last few years because of her failing health."

The former bard's smile widened.

"We are going to change all that."

The warden nodded. She still thought it a bit ridiculous, a human taking the title of "Perfection," but if the woman could do what Leliana thought she could, perhaps it would not be a bad thing that there was a new head of the Shemlen chantry.

Of course, she was not here to discuss politics.

She led her friend over to the table where she had been working. They had much to discuss before the night was through.

The warden had questions about their new enemy, and despite everything that had happened, she simply wanted to talk to Leliana.

She had missed her old friend.

It was nice to see a familiar face again.

IOI

Once the warden had finished telling her about everything that had happened since leaving Ferelden, Leliana leaned back in her chair, her mouth becoming a grim line, and her brow furrowed in thought.

She had seen that look before, back in Denerim; right before they had went and confronted that bitch Marjolaine.

Leliana had no doubt heard the tales of this Count Lumiere, and gave them enough credence that she was worried about her old travelling companion. Lyna had hoped that her old friend would have told her differently, that the Grand Duke was overreacting, but from what the warden was seeing…

…that…was clearly not so.

Leliana gave her a serious look.

"You will need to slip out of Orlais," she said, "As quickly as possible."

The warden sighed heavily.

"I was afraid that you might say that," she murmured, "The Grand Duke has offered us passage on a ship. He has promised to handle the matter personally, no servants or pages, no one who might be tempted to sell where we are going to any interested parties."

Leliana frowned. She had played the Grand Game long enough to know that such moves were never that simple, and rarely did a noble do something for nothing.

"Has the grand duke asked anything of you? Did he have any demands for this help?"

"None," Lyna said shaking her head, ""But that does not mean that he does not intend to profit from all this."

The warden smiled.

"From what I've heard from more than a few of the servants, the Grand Duke is not entirely…happy with how the Empress is ruling this country."

She shook her head.

"Having the support of the Vanquisher of the Blight would likely buy him an ally or two. Besides, it is clear that his main want is for this Lumiere to be gone. If he lets slip that we have fled Orlais, the Comte will likely leave in search of us, if he wants us as badly as the Grand Duke suggests."

Leliana chuckled.

The warden's elven ears twitched.

"What?" she asked.

The sister giggled.

"For someone who hates politics," she said, "You show a remarkable understanding of what is going on."

Lyna shrugged.

"I learned a few things in Amaranthine," she said shaking her head.

"Creators protect me."

Leliana gave her a sympathetic look.

"You may need those skills in the coming months," she advised, "If half of what I have heard of the Count of Light is true. You will no doubt face his agents again."

Lyna nodded.

She had never expected any of this to be easy. Her fame had made her an easy target for ambitious foes, foes eager to make a name for themselves by killing the Hero of Ferelden.

She frowned.

If this is what that Comte had in mind, he was in for a terrible shock.

Lyna did not go down easy.

A scary reputation would not save him if her ax found his neck in the near future.

Her old friend was concerned about her safety, but was smart enough not to pry too hard into Lyna's next destination. She trusted the woman implicitly, but any help she offered would have to come through functionaries, people who would have to other people, who would have to talk to other people, and so on…

Lyna knew without a doubt, that she could not trust them.

Conversation quickly turned to talk of home. Lyna told her a little about her life in Amaranthine and the sister told her a little about her duties in the Grand Cathedral. Justinia kept her old friend very busy apparently, the bardic skills her friend possessed were in great demand it seemed in the highest halls of the chantry.

It was while they were talking that there was a knock at the door. Frowning Lyna had risen to answer it.

She was surprised to see Kierhen there, the Ranger looked…troubled about something.

"Yes," she said.

The man fidgeted.

"We might have a problem with Findel," he murmured, noticing that the warden had company.

The warden's ears twitched.

"What kind of problem?"

The Ranger explained to her what had happened. Lyna tried to hold her temper. Had Findel been out of line with the others, possibly, but at the same time she knew what it was like to be in a world you didn't know, a world you despised.

She promised to speak to the boy as soon as she could, but suggested that the Ranger might at least want to consider apologizing to him.

Kierhen's eyes narrowed, but said nothing.

Lyna was giving him " _the look_ ," _the look_ that said that he would have to think long and hard before he tried to refuse her.

In the end, he promised to consider her advice.

She nodded, and let him slip back to his quarters.

After she closed the door, she had sighed heavily.

Damn that man, she thought.

What had he been thinking?

She would have to deal with Kierhen and Findel later, for now she turned her attention back to her old friend.

Leliana had not moved from her chair, but it was clear that the bard had listened to at least some of the conversation.

The sister was giving her a sly smile.

"What?" Lyna asked.

""Nothing," Leliana replied, still grinning like the cat that had caught the canary.

"What?" the warden repeated.

Her friend giggled.

"I will say this for you Lyna," she said, "You do have a talent for drawing handsome men into your service."

The Dalish's ears twitched.

Handsome?

"Kierhen is a good ally," she said, "He is also aggravating, arrogant, and has no love for my people."

The warden sighed.

"I can honestly say I don't know why I let him stay."

Leliana smirked.

"I'm guessing you could come up with one or two reasons," she purred.

The warden considered that for a moment, then from the sly look on her friends face figured out what she meant.

The warden's face turned beet red, from her cheeks to the tips of her pointed ears.

Leliana giggled at her discomfort.

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

"Listen here Leliana," she began, "As far as me and Kierhen go, there is no me and Kierhen. First off: UGH! Second: he hates my people. He **hates** us."

The Dalish shook her head.

"Nothing could ever come to pass between us."

The sister shrugged.

I remember you saying something similar about you and Alistair once…"

She gave the warden a mischievous look.

"That worked out better than you expected.

The Dalish snorted and turned away.

"That was different."

"Really? How so?"

Lyna glared at her old friend, not pleased at all with how she was amusing herself.

"There is a lot of stuff in this room," she warned her, "Stuff that would hurt a lot more than a raw potato if you got hit with it."

The bard laughed and raised her hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay," she promised, "No more talk about your handsome new companion."

She leaned forward, her smile wide and predatory.

"But as a fellow woman," she said, "Well done in bringing that one into the fold."

Lyna wrinkled her nose and snorted.

 _Ugh!_

Leliana had no idea what she was talking about!

The thought of her and Kierhen…the thought that they had anything in common…?

It…it was just so…so…

She shook her head.

She loved Leliana; they were close as sisters, but some of the things she came up with…

She shook her head again.

She and Kierhen!

 _UGH!_


	13. Esme

**Chapter 13: Esme**

 _Keep your eyes on the horizon. Keep your eyes on the horizon. Keep your eyes on the horizon._

Lyna swallowed hard. She tried to ignore the swaying beneath her feet, the pitch and roll of the waves beneath her.

The elf grimaced.

She had never liked boats. The first time she had journeyed on one had been that first trip to the circle tower years ago, even though it had been on a calm lake, she had still turned as green as grass.

She gripped the railing on the bow. She would not be beaten by this. She had killed an Archdemon damn it.

She would keep her eyes on the horizon.

She let out a shuddering breath.

 _Keep your eyes on the horizon…_

She licked her lips.

… _and don't throw up._

She hated to admit it, but the Grand Duke had been true to his word. He had found them a ship out of Val Royeaux, and gotten them there without being detected. He had even offered them the services of Sabine, his bard. Lyna would have preferred not to take the girl, but realized it was probably a good idea to keep her close for now.

If she was on this ship, she could not let slip where they had gone to anyone. Once they reached Kirkwall, she could return to her master. Lyna was grateful for the man's help, but that did not mean that she wanted him watching their every move from now on.

Gaspard **would** let slip where they had gone eventually, she understood that, but for now they were one step ahead of the hunters, or should have been at least…

She shuddered as the ocean spray hit her face.

They were somewhere off the coast of Nevarra, or so the Captain had informed her. The man, a spice merchant, was making a delivery to the city of Kirkwall. The Grand Duke had convinced him to take on Lyna and her party as passengers. The man knew nothing of what the elf and her party wanted there, so much the better.

The less he knew, the less he could tell if forced.

A fresh wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed it back. She would not be beaten by this, she would not…

She pursed her lips.

She could handle a little sea sickness, once they reached Kirkwall however, they would have a new list of problems…

Lyna frowned.

She wasn't exactly sure **how** she was going to find Kirkwall's black emporium. It was said that the place was ensorcelled that it could only be found by people who had received an invitation from the mysterious Xenon.

Lyna had no invitation, but hoped that she could find someone who did. Of course that would not be their only problem when they reached Kirkwall. According to the captain the city had plenty of threats all its own, and any one of them could be lethal.

Kirkwall was the seat of Templar power in the Free Marches. The Gallows, a prison that had been converted into a Circle of Magi was said to be a fortress. The Templars of the Kirkwall were not like the one she had encountered in Ferelden. These men had killed one royal family of Kirkwall already and now held their city in an iron grip, officially the nobles ruled, but no one had forgotten what the Templars had done when the nobles had pushed them.

Lyna's own history with the Templar order was not the best in the world. Knight-Commander Greagoir had respected her, but had never completely forgiven her for giving shelter to Anders after the death of his Templar escorts during the Darkspawn Civil War, deaths that he had blamed the mage for.

She sighed heavily.

At the time, she had believed that Anders was worth her protection. His healing magic had saved her life during that first dark night securing the Vigil. Afterward, he had proven to be a staunch ally. Always there with a fireball or some quip to lighten the mood.

She had actually considered making him an officer. He had started to develop a mind for tactics. Then one night he and Justice had gone out on patrol with a warden recruit named Rolan…

They never returned.

Lyna had gone in search of her friend. They had found signs of a battle, some blood, but no corpses, not even ash. Nathaniel had gone with her; he was a remarkably good tracker, for a shem. He came up with the same conclusion that she had.

Anders had been attacked on the road, an attack that had likely been successful. Whoever was behind it must have taken any bodies left behind when the battle had ended, and yes she was sure that there had been bodies.

Anders was too good of a mage not to have taken at least some of his enemies with him.

Which of course led to another question: What had happened to Rolan, and where was Justice?

She had never found a satisfactory answer.

Even if Rolan and Anders had been killed, then Justice should have found his way back to the keep. If the dead human body he had been wearing had been damaged, he would have jumped into another one, she had seen him do that particular trick twice before…

If he had not…?

She shook her head.

What could have killed her friends, **who** could have done it? Anders had been an experienced warrior by the time he had left. Rolan had been trained by the Templars before joining the order. Anders had been leery about letting a Templar recruit into the order. Lyna had assured him that the boy would be no threat. The joining had bound him in a way that was not easily broken. After that, even had he wanted to return to the Templars it would not have been possible.

The taint was not something you could throw away; it was part of you…

…A fact that she knew better than anyone.

She had approached Greagoir about Rolan once, wanting to send word to his family. The Knight-Commander had informed her that Rolan had had no family. He had been an orphan, raised by the chantry.

The man had no family to inform of his death.

She had accepted that answer, but at the same time, she could not help, but feel that there was something…odd about it. Greagoir had seemed…uncomfortable about discussing the man.

She could have looked into it further, but in the end decided against it.

Rolan was gone.

Anders was gone, and Justice was gone.

Beyond that, what else mattered?

She tried to push such grim thoughts out of her mind. The past was gone, only the present mattered, that and her quest to find a cure for the Calling. Hopefully, Master Xenon would have some clue of where she might search next. She still intended to seek out that warden outpost in Vimmarks, but…

"You seem better this morning, warden."

Lyna smiled.

"I'm still a little nauseous, Esme," she admitted, "But at least I'm not flat on the deck moaning in misery."

The sister chuckled and made her way up to her companion. Of all of them, Esme seemed the most comfortable being on the sea. If anything, she looked…invigorated since they had left dry land behind.

Lyna glared at her, there was no anger in it, but that did not lessen the strength of it.

She hated to admit it, but she was a little jealous of her friend's constitution right now.

"How are the others," the warden inquired.

The sister smiled slightly.

"Bok and Royce seem to be doing okay," she said, "The dwarf seems to have a constitution like a rock. Sabine is…"

Esme shook her head.

"The girl seems to delight in annoying me," she scowled, "She has no use for women of the faith, and keeps trying to bait me into an argument, but for the most part I'm ignoring her."

Lyna chuckled.

"She won't be with us much longer," the warden promised.

"Praise the Maker," the sister said glancing skyward.

"Kierhen's maintaining a stoic silence. If he is suffering any ill effects of this trip he refuses to let it show. The animals are enduring in their cages. Findel is…well, he is lying in a hammock, begging for the elven gods to let him die.

Lyna tried not to smirk; she knew how bad seasickness was. She had offered to help the boy, but he insisted that he would be fine.

Before they had left, Leliana had spoken with her one last time. She had not been able to tell her friend where they were going, and Leliana had understood that.

 _Sometimes secrecy and the success if a mission was more important than friendship, which did not mean that she, could not help however._

Leliana had provided her old companion with a ginger extract potion, something that was supposed to help with seasickness. It wasn't a cure or vaccine, but at least it allowed her to remain vertical. She had offered some to Findel but the boy had refused.

He was paying for that refusal now.

They would just have to let the sea sickness run its course. Once the sea calmed down, Findel would likely make a full recovery.

She found herself glancing over at Esme. The girl had said little during their time at the Grand Duke's estate. Leliana had offered to shelter the young priestess, smooth away any issues resulting from her flight from her village, and offer her a new posting.

The girl had been flattered by the offer, but had refused. She told Leliana that she felt that the Maker put her on this path for a reason, a reason that she would never discover if she returned to the chantry now.

"No, I will stay with the warden and the others," she had proclaimed, "it may be the only way to find out what the Maker has in store for me."

Leliana had accepted that and sent the girl on her way. She had offered them the Maker's blessing as they set off for the docks of Val Royeaux.

Now here they were just the two of them.

She could not help it, she realized. What she had seen of Esme so far did not give her any real insight into who the girl truly was.

And besides…since they were stuck here anyway, they might as well learn a little more about each other.

Esme had shrugged at that. She did not see herself as being very important in the overall scheme of things.

Her parents had lived simply along the northern shores of Ferelden. Father had been a shepherd, while mother had been the daughter of a successful fisherman. How such a relationship could have begun in the first place was a mystery to all but Esme, but that did not mean that she was unwilling to talk about it.

"Tell me about them, your family," The warden had requested.

Again Esme sighed.

"There is not much to tell," She continued, "My mother moved around a lot, at least in his youth. Father had never been more than ten miles away from her home. Aubrey was…"

Esme winced.

"Aubrey always wanted to travel," she said, "He will never get the chance to do that now."

Lyna's elven ears twitched with curiosity.

"Aubrey is your brother?"

The sister nodded.

"Not just my brother, but my twin, my other half."

A wave of sorrow passed over her face.

"Aubrey would not have had hesitated to accompany you on this journey," she said with a sad smile." We might have grown up on a farm, but my brother had salt water in his blood. He got that from my mother's side of the family I suppose. They were all sailors and fishermen.

She shook her head.

"He probably would have spent the rest of his life on the water if his magic had not manifested. I think that is what hurt him the most about being in the Circle Tower in Ferelden, being so close to the water, but not being able to be on it."

Lyna winced at the mention of Kinloch Hold.

"Were the two of you there during the Blight?"

"Aubrey was…he had just passed his Harrowing when the coup began."

Esme smiled slightly.

"He told me that the Hero of Ferelden saved his life that day, I owe you for that."

Lyna nodded, accepting her thanks with humility.

Esme turned back to the sea.

"I had just finished my training in Highever a month after the Archdemon fell. My parents did some work with the nobles you see, and they pulled some strings, allowing me to serve in the Circle Tower, so that I could be close to my brother again. It was the first time we had seen each other in almost…six years, seven..."

She sighed.

"It hardly seems possible, growing up we were never separate for more than an hour or two at most. We quarreled on and off, but we always forgave each other. How could we not?"

Lyna pursed her lips, there was only one question that she could think to ask right now, and was not quite sure how to ask it without offending the girl, but she still thought it needed to be said, if they were to go any further…

"What happened to your brother?"

Esme winced, and fell silent.

For a moment the two women stood there in an awkward silence.

"If…if you do not wish to answer…"

"No," Esme said, "I…it is just uncomfortable to talk about, even now."

The sister sighed.

"My brother was a talented healer," she began, "I saw him work miracles with even the most grievous of wounds. He was also a skilled spirit medium. I did not understand fully what that meant, only that he had what he liked to call a great affinity for the fade, and spirits in general."

She shook her head.

"What happened…I only know what the mages saw, and Templars told me later? One of the spirits of the fade had taken an interest in my brother. An interest that I am told went beyond the norm. Whenever my brother entered the fade, alone or with others she was there."

Lyna's ears twitched.

"She?"

"Yes" Esme said, "According to the mages that had been working with my brother she always appeared to him as a beautiful woman."

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

"Was it a _desire demon_?"

"My brother did not think so; she never tried to tempt him; at least that is what I learned from his fellows…after…"

The sister's fingers curled into angry fists

"During some spell he was casting, the spirit used her connection to my brother to cross over from the fade, not fully you understand, but enough to scare the Templars that were observing the casting. The Knight-Lieutenant on duty tried to intervene, to convince Aubrey to send the spirit back. He grabbed my brother's shoulder and pushed him when he did not…"

Esme frowned.

"The spirit, she used her connection with my brother to breach the summoning circle. She lashed out at the Templars, blasting the Lieutenant against the wall. The other mages panicked and lost control of the spell. The fade was breached, demons tried to cross."

She shivered.

"I was in the chapel, praying, when this all happened. I heard the Templars shouting, calling for reinforcements. Aubrey managed to seal the breach, he and his spirit worked in tandem, or so the mages that were there said."

She shook her head.

"She had only been trying to **protect** my brother. I don't know why, but she was only trying to protect him! Knight-Commander Greagoir was furious. No spirit should have been able to breach that circle. Even the First Enchanter feared a mage with such a connection to a spirit, it was not possession, but it was not something that should have been possible."

Esme shuddered.

"I saw my brother once before it happened. If…if he had known…he would likely not have been so calm."

Lyna blinked.

"What happened?"

The sister's eyes narrowed.

They made him tranquil."

Lyna gasped.

"Creators," she whispered, "No.''

"They made Aubrey tranquil," Esme spat, "He might have passed his Harrowing, but they felt he had grown too dangerous to allow him to keep his powers, that his connection to the spirit was too strong. I went down the morning after his arrest, to make sure he was fine, his cell was empty. I asked the guard but he refused to tell me anything. That afternoon I saw him during noon day meal, shuffling in with the rest of the tranquil. He…he…"

Anger flashed in Esme's eyes.

"I…I fainted when I saw him like that! When I awoke in healing room I almost ran to the Knight-Commander's office. He was sympathetic, but offered no apology, he had done his duty. I went to the First Enchanter, but even he felt what had happened was the right thing. The Circle as a whole was too important to be sacrificed for one mage. They…they…"

She fought back a sob. Lyna tried to comfort her, but Esme held up her hand.

"I tried to do my duty, but seeing my brother, my twin, like that. It was intolerable. The Knight-Command took pity on me eventually; he spoke with the Revered Mother and had me transferred to Orlais. That is where we met."

Esme shook her head.

"My brother did not deserve that fate. He did not!

Lyna winced.

Having seen the tranquil herself…

She…she could not imagine seeing someone she loved left in such a state, much less a sibling.

Esme turned away.

"I should go check on Findel," she said, "Good bye, warden."

"Dareth shiral," Lyna said under her breath.

The sister retreated, sailors moved out of her way.

"Sister," Lyna called out.

The girl stopped.

"Yes?"

Lyna gave her a pained look.

"I'm sorry about your brother."

Esme nodded and slipped back down below deck.

Lyna sighed and shook her head.

She looked out again over the horizon.

Poor Esme, she thought.

Suddenly her sea sickness did not seem as bad as it once was.

IOI

Esme said nothing as she passed two sailors. They respected her as a member of the chantry and kept their silence, most of them anyways.

Emotions burned in her breast. She was angry and sad all at the same time. No matter how much time had passed, Aubrey's fate remained an open wound in her heart.

Why should it not, her conscience said, he was her twin; they had literally been born together.

Two sides of the same coin, they had been inseparable once.

She closed her eyes, remembering that day, the day that Templars took her brother into custody, and took him to the cells beneath the tower.

What came next was something she would never forget, not if she lived to be a hundred years old.

This she did not tell the warden, it was too personal.

She had gone to Aubrey, after it all had happened. Her brother should have been terrified taken in to Templar custody, but he seemed resigned, calm even.

It had shaken her to her core.

She had tried to fight the tears, but she could not. Aubrey was her twin, her other half. If the Templars hurt him…?

He had smiled and took her hand.

"Don't worry," he had murmured, "Don't worry about me; you will be safe, I promise."

She had not understood that.

He was the one in danger, and all he had thought of was her.

It made no sense.

The ship lurched underneath her. She put out her hand to catch herself.

Esme gasped.

The wood where her hand had touched was now covered with ice!

She looked down at her hands. Her palms had frosted over. She felt no cold, but could feel the freezing temperatures in her bones.

She closed her eyes.

She prayed.

"No," she murmured, "Sweet Andraste save me. Maker give me strength. Take this cruel curse from me. Take it please."

The words became a chant. She moved into the shadows, no sailor passed by, thank the Maker.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

She struggled to regain control.

Maker please!

Maker please!

Esme felt her heart slow, her breathing became more even.

She took a deep cleansing breath.

She opened her eyes.

The cold was gone from her hands.

She sighed with relief.

Bless you Maker, she thought.

Thank you.

She adjusted her robes, straightened her hair, once again she was a calm efficient daughter of the chantry.

She continued on her way.

In the back of her mind, she still felt the slight pull of panic. It was getting worse, stronger.

Esme shook her head.

"It had started the night that Aubrey had been made tranquil, she had no idea why.

When Aubrey had first been taken to the tower, she had been tested by the Templars. They had found that she had no magical talent. She had escaped the curse that afflicted her brother.

She shook her head.

This was not possible!

How could this be happening!

"I'm no mage," she murmured.

She repeated those words under her breath, like a chant.

It had been her mantra since first leaving Kinloch Hold.

It brought her comfort.

I am no mage. I am no mage. I am no mage.

She paused, something twinged her in breast.

If you are no mage, something inside her asked…

Esme shuddered.

What are you?

Esme shook her head.

She had no idea.

She pushed through the door leading back to her other companions. She was avoiding the question, because if she did not…she had no idea what she would do.

What are you?"

She sighed.

She had no idea.


	14. Threats in the Dark

**Chapter 14: Threats in the Dark**

 _She was drowning in the song._

 _That is how it felt, that is how it_ _ **always**_ _felt. Ever since the moment the Archdemon had died, or…perhaps it was when Tamlen first touched that mirror. All she knew that the darkness was consuming her, slowly eating away at who she was, and who she might become._

Lyna groaned in her sleep. She had tried to get some rest before the ship made landfall. If Sabine was to be believed, Kirkwall was not the kind of city you wanted to be distracted in. As always it had taken her a long time to finally doze off, because when she did.

The song was waiting for her.

She could hear it, echoing off the cold stone walls of the deep roads. The Archdemon might have been dead, but everything it had been had passed through her thanks to Morrigan's ritual, it had left a stain on her mind, and in her soul.

In her weaker moments, that stain tried to **suffocate** her.

She curled up into a ball in her hammock, whimpering like a newborn babe.

It might not have been so bad had the darkness been empty, but it wasn't…

The shadows were full of monsters, and they were always eager to greet her.

 _Always._

She tried to ignore it, to push back the shadows, to fight her way back into the light.

The darkspawn were mindless, they had never been strong enough to hold her here. Only the Archdemon had ever been that strong…

So it came as a surprise to her when she felt something reach out of the darkness, and try to pull her back down.

The song grew louder, she fought against it, and then, over the strains of music, she heard a voice, a strange phlegmy voice.

The sound chilled her to the bone.

" **I am seeing you again, Warden Elf."**

Lyna fought to free herself, but the shadows constricted around her, light a giant's hand trying to crush her.

She felt…amusement in the taint.

" **The Warden Elf cannot be hiding,"** the voice said again, **"We are sharing the same blood now. Your blood is being inside me, just as ours is being in yours."**

Lyna tried to scream but only shadows came out. In the darkness she could almost make out a face. Pale, diseased, the whole right side of the darkspawn's face was burned and melted, bubbled up with weeping sores.

It reminded her a bit of a genlock, but it was different, taller perhaps, it moved more like a mortal creature than a darkspawn.

The creature sneered at her, showing a mouth full of razor teeth.

" **I am seeing you, Warden Elf,"** the creature chortled, " **You cannot be thinking that crossing the sea will be saving yourself from me."**

The creature shook its head.

" **The bounty on your head is being** _ **doubled**_ **,"** the darkspawn spat, " **The surface scum will be hunting you now. They will be bringing your body to me, and then…then…"**

The darkspawn chortled.

" **I will be feasting on your flesh. Your skin will be becoming my new cloak; your ears will be making an excellent necklace. Your hands will be making…"**

Lyna freed herself, she stumbled away down the dark corridors, but still the monster's voice followed her.

" **You** _ **cannot**_ **be hiding,"** the creature snarled, **"I will be finding you! You are being blood of my blood!"**

Lyna fought against the darkness.

" **You cannot be hiding! The Forgotten will be finding you!"**

The warden screamed.

IOI

Lyna jolted up in bed. She looked around the darkened hold, expecting the creature to be there, expecting it to have followed her through the taint.

She took a deep breath and then another.

She…she…

 _Oh Creators,_ she thought.

 _It…it could not be?!_

Slowly, her heart began to slow. She blinked away the last of the nightmare as the song shifted back into the back of her mind.

Lyna sighed.

"The Forgotten will be finding you," She murmured.

She shook her head.

"You cannot be hiding."

Slowly her mind began to work again, processing what she had seen and heard. The Archdemon was dead, that had not changed, but it was clear that something had reached out through taint to her.

"The Forgotten," she murmured, her elven ears lowering in anger, her fingers curling into angry fists.

"So **that** was the monster's name."

She shouldn't have been surprised. She had never truly believed that all the awakened darkspawn had died with the Mother and the Architect years ago. Of course, those had all been hurlocks; she had no memory of an awakened genlock.

Was this what had just made contact with her, an awakened genlock?

She pursed her lips.

It was possible she supposed. The Architect had dreamed of freeing his people from their chains. He had wanted to free them from the call of the old gods. He had used the blood of grey wardens to further this end, to give the darkspawn the warden immunity to the call that drove them. Of course there had been side effects…

Lyna shuddered.

Most of the awakened darkspawn she had encountered had been driven mad by the Architect's scheme, the Mother most of all. Those that weren't were all blood thirsty killers. If this…this Forgotten had survived the Architect's version of the joining…?

She shook her head.

But the creature had also said something about a bounty? Was it possible that this was where the contract to kill her had come from?

 _Was it_ _ **even**_ _possible?_

Her ears twitched as she considered the possibility.

An awakened darkspawn **could** have been smart enough to have placed a bounty on her head. He wouldn't have been able to do it himself of course, but that did not mean that he could not act through others. She had met ghouls that had retained enough of who they once were to interact with the world outside of the darkspawn horde. One of these could have posted a bounty, with no one realizing who it was they were truly working for.

Lyna ran her hand through her blond hair; it was damp with sweat, as were her small clothes.

She leaned over, almost falling out of the hammock in the process, grabbing her leggings she pulled them on and sprang to her feet.

The warden's eyes narrowed.

It seemed that she had _another_ enemy hunting her now, and this one did not have to search for her…

The taint would tell him all he needed to know.

Lyna slipped on her tunic and breast plate, she thought she could hear boots steps coming down the steps from up on deck. She needed to be ready when whoever was coming arrived.

Of course, now she had a new question to consider.

Was she going to tell the others about this?

They deserved to know, she did not doubt that. They were not wardens, and deserved to know exactly what was hunting them. At the same time, if she said anything she might just lose them, that might jeopardize her mission as a whole. She still needed help. She believed that more than ever.

Could she afford to jeopardize her own mission?

"Warden," Bok's voice emerged from the shadows.

Her eyes narrows.

No, she realized.

She could not.

She shook her head. There would be another time to answer questions, later, in the future. For now she needed to tend to the present.

Now…she needed to worry about Kirkwall.

"I'm…uh… awake, Bok," she called out.

"Good," she heard the dwarf say, "We are approaching the black cliffs of Kirkwall."

"I think you are going to want to see this."

IOI

Lyna's mouth fell open, her blue eyes widened at the sight before her.

There was a time that she thought Denerim was amazing.

That time had just passed.

The cliffs of Kirkwall were massive, and hanging from each, statues of the great dragon gods worshipped so long ago. As the ship approached the entrance to Kirkwall, the massive bronze statues known as the twins towered above them, cast into the shape of two weeping slaves, the twins had been one of the first sights travelers saw of fair Kirkwall since the days of the Tevinter Imperium.

The sight left the warden speechless. Even Findel was moved to silence, such was the grandeur of the old Tevinter monuments. Bok, Royce and Esme stood behind them, their things already gathered, waiting for the moment that the group would be able to depart. Kierhen stayed close to the animals, the Ranger shook his head at the ancient Tevinter statues.

He sighed.

He was not impressed.

"I've heard," he said, "that this was the center of the slave trade once. That thousands of humans and elves were brought here to work the quarries, that so many have died here that the veil is as weak as a piece of parchment in this city, that evil is constantly being drawn here."

The Ranger sighed.

"I wonder what that makes us."

Bok snorted at his question.

"The days of the slave trade are long gone, Master Ranger," he said, "Though with such a reminder as those you see when you pass through those cliffs, it is not surprising this place is still linked with ancient evils."

The dwarf shook his head.

"Me, I'm more concerned with _current_ evils, like the people hunting our warden friend here, and by extension us."

He gave Lyna a gentle smile.

"With luck," he added, "We have evaded such evil…for now."

It was at that moment that Sabine bounded up to them, the bard was clad in fine black leather armor, her eyes twinkling mischievously, and her smile sly and cruel.

"The Captain will let us off on one the docks in Lowtown," she said, "From there you will be able to go anywhere in the city."

Royce gave her a surprised look.

"Us?" he inquired.

"The bard smirked.

"My patron has business with one of the Hightown nobles. I'll follow you as far as the steps, and then…you're all on your own."

Esme nodded at that news. Lyna tried not to smile. The sister and the bard seriously did not like each other, not that the bard had done anything to endear herself to the warden or her companions.

Findel looked out over the water; the great fortress in the distance had caught his eye.

Sabine's lips curled in distaste.

"The Gallows," she informed him, "It used to be a prison. It is a circle of magi now."

Kierhen snorted.

"Same difference, girl," he said.

The bard chuckled.

"Perhaps," she agreed, "Regardless, our young friend should keep his distance, unless he wishes to make his stay in Kirkwall a bit more permanent."

Despite his attitude, Findel moved closer to Lyna and Esme. Both women noticed the move, and reached out for the boy's hands.

He took them, just for a second.

Progress, the warden thought, at least the boy realized that he had allies with him now.

The ship slipped past the Gallows as it moved farther into the harbor. The smell of tar and smelting metal from the distant foundries filled their senses.

They had arrived in the city of chains.

Now they would have to survive it.

IOI

It was dark by the time the ship finally made landfall. Sabine paid the Captain as soon as the ship reached its berth in Kirkwall. Lyna and her allies stepped off the ship and onto the hard stone docks of Kirkwall.

Findel's nose wrinkled as he looked at the squalor around him.

"It stinks here," the boy complained.

Behind him, the Mabari and she wolf sneezed, the soot from the Foundries were everywhere this far down in the city. Torches gave off some light, but many shadows still darkened their path.

Lyna frowned.

Shadows like that were good hiding places, perfect places to set up an ambush.

Her old warrior senses tingled.

This was not the kind of place to let down ones guard, probably not even during the day. Even Sister Esme seemed to realize that, the sister had a death grip on her fighting staff.

Lyna led them forward; with luck their arms would be enough to discourage any trouble. They were a group of heavily armed and armored people; hopefully anyone watching would realize that they were far from easy marks.

A group of ten men marched down the steps before them. They held a tight formation, and all wore matching uniforms.

The leader noticed Lyna and the others and turned towards them.

Behind her, the warden's allies tensed.

"Steady," she cautioned, "Steady."

The armored men drew closer. They stopped, just out of the light of the closest torch.

"Hold," there leader called out, "In the name of the Kirkwall guard, hold!"

Bok started to raise his mace, but Royce stopped him.

"Just a guard patrol," the warrior reminded him.

Bok shot him an acidic look.

"That is what I'm afraid of," the dwarf replied.

Lyna did not say anything, but she feared the dwarf had a point. Not all guardsmen were as honest as Royce, if this lot new about the bounties on her head…?

Her eyes narrowed.

If they knew and decided to try and collect, there would be a fight. If they didn't, she did not have enough coin to bribe these men if they were corrupt, and a fight might start anyway.

She sighed and took a step forward.

Better get this over with quickly, she would find out where they stood.

First, she would try diplomacy.

"Greetings officer," she said with her friendliest smile, "Is there a problem here?"

Their leader paused, he wore some kind of braid on his shoulder, if that meant he was an officer or not she was not entirely sure.

"You are well armed elf," he said coldly, perhaps too well armed."

Lyna shrugged.

"We are just passing through," she informed him.

"If you can direct us to a tavern where we might spend the remainder of the night we would be most grateful," Esme added.

"We are not looking for any trouble," Sabine chimed in.

The officer's eyes fell on the bard, her armor fit every curve of her body perfectly, and it would be hard not to imagine what the girl looked like naked.

The man licked his lips, a flicker of lust shown in his eyes.

"Regardless of your intent," he said, "There is a new ordinance in Kirkwall, no weapons inside the city limits; you will have to surrender your blades and bows to us now."

Lyna's eyes narrowed. She glanced over at Sabine.

The bard shrugged.

"First time I've heard of such an ordinance."

"It is new," the officer said, "Viscount Dumar passed it only yesterday."

Interesting, Lyna thought, of course, that did not mean that she was simply going to obey.

"You cannot expect us to surrender our weapons ser," Lyna said.

"They will be returned to you, tomorrow. We are not thieves good woman." the officer continued, "We will escort you to the Hanged Man, it is not the best of establishments, but it will give you a place to rest for the night.

Bok who was still fingering his mace gave the Guardsman a sly look.

"And if we refuse?" he asked.

The guards all drew their weapons.

Lyna hissed under her breath.

She had no desire to make the guards of this city her enemy. She…

"There is no need for that brothers," Royce said with a smile, "My friends and I will cooperate."

Lyna shot him an icy glare, how dare the guardsman overstep his place like this.

He gave her a serious look.

"Trust me," he murmured.

The elf's brow furrowed, but she chose to listen, for now.

Royce stepped forward, with his free hand he gently guided Esme behind him, then he drew his great sword, and offering it up pommel first.

"Here," he said, "You can start with mine."

The guard officer paused; Lyna could almost see the wheels turning in the man's head.

Finally, he lowered his guard slightly.

He looked at young guard behind him.

"Joffrey," he said, "Take his weapon."

"Aye, ser," the young man said with a rough salute. Despite his smile Royce shuddered.

The young man approached with his blade drawn.

He stepped under the light of a torch, showing dirty plate and leather armor. His sword however was new, and shiny, gold filigree in the hilt.

Royce nodded.

"A lovely weapon," he purred.

The boy smirked as he reached for Royce's sword.

"Thanks, I…"

Royce struck like a panther.

One moment he was offering up his blade, the next it was whirling around and striking out like a serpent.

The young guard lost his head; it fell into the water with a loud splash. His body fell over, twitching and spilling blood.

So quick was the boy's death that his fellows did not have time to respond.

Lyna stood, dumbfounded.

Royce snarled. His eyes flashing with anger

"You want our weapons impostors," he snarled, "Come get them!"

"Take them the officer hissed, "Save the women if you can."

Lyna lunged, her blade in hand with Arrow at her side. Her swords clanged of one of the guard's shields.

 _Great,_ the warden thought before the red haze of the battle wrath took her…

… _So much for diplomacy._


	15. Battle on the Docks

**Chapter 15: Battle on the Docks**

 **Madness!**

That was the only way to describe it, one minute Royce had been talking to the guardsman, and the next they were in the middle of a free for all on the docks of Kirkwall.

Kierhen brought up his bow but could not fire; too many of his allies were in the way. Lady stayed close to her companion, awaiting his command of who to attack. Lyna was roaring as she engaged the guardsmen, her Mabari at her side. Royce who had started this mess, showed equal disregard for the law, he struck down another of the armored warriors who now blocked their path, forcing them to try to fall back and regroup.

The Ranger shook his head.

He had thought the man the most stable of their group, to see him go insane like this did not fit what he knew about the shemlen warrior.

Esme stayed behind Royce and Lyna, blocking and occasionally jabbing with her staff. Sabine had her daggers out, while Bok drew his own weapons. The rogues kept just inside the warriors' guard, ready to pick off any enemies who got lucky enough to get through Lyna and Royce's wall of steel.

Findel had retreated into the shadows. Kierhen did not know what to make of that, he had seen the boy fight in the woods; he had been a terror, seeing him shy away from battle now did not set the best precedence for his future in their little company. The boy was…

Arrows rained down from above.

The bolts sent the Ranger staggering back. Royce caught one in the shoulder, while Bok just managed to bat one away from his chest.

"On the roof, on the right," the dwarf shouted.

Kierhen looked up.

"They have friends."

The ranger's eyes narrowed.

 _No shit. dwarf_ , he thought grimly.

Kierhen counted no less than six archers, as they fired another volley, another wave of warriors descended down on ropes. These did not wear the armor of city guardsmen; in fact their armor had a distinctive foreign cut that Kierhen did not recognize.

Not that it mattered where they came from right now.

He brought up his bow and fired.

Here were targets that he could see.

He caught one in the neck sending him tumbling off the building. One of the new wave of warriors tried to engage him, but Lady brought the man down and ripped out his throat.

"Kierhen, Findel," he heard Lyna shout, "Bring down those archers."

The Ranger did not have time to check where Findel was; perhaps he was still cowering in the shadows. If the boy was, that left dealing with the archers to him.

Another wonderful task he had to somehow pull off.

Another volley rained down on them. The only thing that had saved them up to this point was that their attackers were not going for kill shots. He had thought he had heard at the start of the battle that the officer wished to preserve the women for some reason.

Their decision to pull their shots would likely be the guardsmen undoing.

Kierhen fired at another of the archers and missed, the man fell back just in time. Again another of the attackers managed to get past the warriors and tried to strike at him directly. He was forced to drop his bow and draw his sword and dagger. He blocked the man's attack and ended him quickly with a slice across the belly, and then the throat.

It was at that moment that one of the archers decided to try and take him out of the equation; the man popped up and fired what would have likely been a killing shot to the head or throat.

Kierhen whirled around, but was in no position to dodge or block, he did not even have time to back pedal.

 _ **THUNK!**_

The arrow struck home, not in his chest or in his face…

…but in Lyna's forearm.

He had not seen the warden move from her position, but here she was, shielding him from a killing blow.

His eyes widened in shock and surprise.

Lyna's wrist guard had been out of position, the arrow had caught her in the meat of her forearm, and passed through to the other side, there it had stopped. It's head a mere hand length from his throat.

He looked up at their leader in shock. What she had done. It…it was unbelievable.

She glared at him, showing no pain from the wound.

"Take those archers down," she spat, before returning to the line of advancing attackers.

Almost on automatic Kierhen fired two quick arrows, one managed to catch one of his enemies in the eye.

Still the ranger was in shock, what he had seen, what she had done!

He…he had no words for that.

Since losing his father, he had hated the Dalish folk, blamed them for everything that had happened since. They were honor less in his eyes, wasting their lives trying to bring back something that was gone forever.

What Lyna had done, it…it was not something he had expected from one of the people.

Now he understood why Felassan and his allies wanted the warden on their side.

Such bravery…it should not simply be tossed away.

He glanced her way for a moment. She was currently fighting the guard officer that had first approached them, a longsword in each hand. He did not see her ax, which suggested that she might have thrown it early in the fight, perhaps taking out one of their opponents doing so.

In that moment, he realized that he could not let her down, that he would do his best to see those archers stopped before they could wound or kill any of their companions.

His problems with the Dalish did not extend to Lyna, not anymore.

She had proven herself different this day.

He heard Royce cry out in pain. The warrior had been struck in the thigh by one of the arrows raining down on them. He stumbled and fell to his knees. Esme was there to catch him, but no longer was Lyna and the rogues able to hold off the guardsmen and their reinforcements.

Their enemies surged forward.

It was at that moment on the edge of the battlefield, a lone figure stepped out of the shadows. He was in dark brown robes, with gold embroidery and fine fur collared cloak. In his right hand he carried a staff, with a flickering crystal on the top.

He glared at the battle before him.

"Fools," he shouted in a foreign accent, "Secure this merchandise, what in Andraste's name am I paying you for?!"

It was in that moment that Kierhen realized why Royce had attacked the guards; they were not here on official business, if they were even guards at all.

The man raised his staff speaking in harsh tones, a wave of shadows swept over the battlefield.

As soon as it touched Kierhen his mind turned to mush.

It was a strange sensation, like being drunk, the ground moved like waves beneath his feet, he could barely concentrate to nock another arrow.

It was in that moment that he realized that they were all likely lost. He saw Bok get knocked down. Lyna tried to reach the mage, but found her way blocked by no less than five soldiers.

Kierhen fired off an arrow, but missed, the spell's effect on his perceptions made any legitimate targeting impossible at this point.

He managed to dodge another arrow…barely.

He dropped his bow and drew his sword and dagger again.

It would not be enough, he realized, they had lost.

A guard struck Lyna sending her sprawling, He moved quickly to disarm her while she was still dazed.

It was at that moment that they heard the cry, a sound like a wounded animal, one so wounded and maddened by pain that it could not be stopped.

It was at that moment that Findel finally entered the battlefield. He spun shouting Dalish curses into the night sky.

An inferno blazed from his hands.

IOI

The archers had been caught completely off guard, they had not had time to dodge, jump down or even scream. The fire washed over them, cleansing the roof of their presence.

The foreign mage, having noticed the attack tried to raise his staff, to stop the boy before he could do any more damage.

Wailing, Findel threw fireballs at the man, they didn't just hit they exploded around him, breaking the mage's concentration.

The shadows covering Lyna and her allies dissipated.

Kierhen felt the sharpness of his mind return; it was like waking from a fever dream.

He nocked an arrow, and fired, the shot caught the so called guard officer in throat.

Findel's attack had done what it had needed, it had caused a distraction, opened the door for Lyna and her allies to recover.

They did not waste that opportunity.

They went on the attack.

Even with her injuries Lyna charged. One of the mages soldiers tried to get in her way, but caught a shot from Kierhen and his recovered bow.

Findel continued to blast away with fire. He was doing damage, but there was no control, only power spinning out of hand.

Kierhen's eyes narrowed.

The boy was going to need a proper teacher if he was to be of any use to them.

The foreign mage, perhaps sensing that the battle had turned against him tried to flee.

Lyna shouted for Arrow to pursue, to make sure that the man did not escape.

The hound bounded off on his mistress' orders, eager to taste the blood of the man who had nearly ended them all here.

Bok ended the life of the last of their attackers, his mace smashing in the man's skull. The dwarf shook his head at the chaos around them, even as he inspected several minor wounds on his face and left shoulder.

"Quite the welcoming parties they throw here in Kirkwall," he said with a snort, "I'm surprised that everyone does not want to come here."

Findel did not hear him; the boy could likely not hear anything right now. He looked almost catatonic, staring at the direction that the foreign mage had fled. Flames still licked at the palms of his hands.

He might have followed the Mabari's trail had Lyna not stopped him.

She took the boy's face in her hands.

"It is over Findel," she gasped, "You can stop now."

The boy did not even acknowledge her, his eyes were wide and wild. He started to raise his hand again, a new fireball beginning to form.

Lyna's grip on his face tightened, her eyes narrowed.

"Da'len," she snarled, "I am talking to you."

Kierhen and Bok had begun to raise their weapons, just in case the boy chose not to obey the warden's orders, which proved to be unnecessary.

The boy blinked, and shook his head. The fire faded from his hands.

He shook his head, looking like he had just awakened from a sound sleep.

He looked into their leader's eyes.

"Warden," he murmured, "Lyna?"

She smiled.

"Yes, da'len, I am here, good work, mage."

His lip quivered and he threw his arms around her neck. Though she was clearly uncomfortable she did nothing to break their embrace.

The boy needed her reassurance; he had done well, but almost lost control in the process.

He needed to know she was not angry with him.

When the boy did finally release her, she made her way over to Royce. The human was lying against one of the stone walls, several arrows sticking out of his body.

The warden's eyes narrowed.

"How did you know?" she asked.

The wounded warrior chuckled and coughed.

"The boy's armor was filthy," Royce almost moaned, "A good captain would have had him scrubbing the privies for going out on the street looking like that. Then…then there was his steel."

Royce coughed again.

"Recruits are not allowed fine blades like that. Young guardsmen have a high enough mortality rate as it is. We don't want kids getting killed for their fancy new blades in their first month on the job. They have to make due with stock weapons, at least until we know they can handle themselves, they…

He suffered another coughing fit; blood spattered the ground in front of them.

Esme looked terrified.

"He is hurt too bad," she whimpered.

She looked up at Findel.

"Do you know any healing spells?"

The boy shook his head.

The sister cursed under her breath.

"I…I don't think I can help him," she almost sobbed, "Not with the supplies I brought with me."

Royce slumped over.

"No," Esme whimpered.

"No. Royce. No!"

Lyna was about to go to him, when she heard the sound of boot prints approaching, many boots, many people.

"Weapons out," she ordered.

Kierhen and Bok drew their blades, and waited to see who was coming.

 _If the foreign mage brought back_ _ **more**_ _friends…_

Arrow bounded up to his mistress, barking and bouncing excitedly. Behind him appeared another Mabari, a little older perhaps, but a bit more seasoned.

Following close behind him, were his owner, and what she assumed was the owner's companions.

The first was a young woman with short black hair and pale unblemished skin. Behind her followed a blond haired dwarf with no beard and a duster coat, some kind of strange crossbow like weapon in his hands. Next to him was a woman in well cared for heavy plate, her ginger hair pulled back by a hand band and ponytail, the sigil of Kirkwall adorned her breast. She looked like a city guard, a true city guard. Lyna could not make out the fourth; he stayed too far behind the larger guardswoman.

The dark haired leader took in the scene, concern radiated from her blue eyes.

"Are you all alright?" she asked.

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

The girl sounded _Fereldan_.

It was Esme who answered her voice one step below panic.

"Our Friend is **dying** ," she shouted, "He **needs** healing magic!"

The dark haired woman stepped forward, her hands already beginning to glow with blue energy.

Lyna tried to block her.

The dark haired mage smirked at her.

"I can bump into you, or save your friend, your choice," she said with a cheery smile.

Lyna glared at her, but backed up.

"Thanks," the woman said kneeling next to Royce, "Your friend's chances of survival just went from slim, to maybe."

Lyna shook her head at the smart mouthed mage, but realized she had no choice.

They needed healing magic.

They needed to save Royce.

It was then that that red haired guard noticed the arrow sticking through Lyna's forearm.

"You're hurt," she exclaimed.

Lyna gave her a cold sneer.

"Really, I hadn't noticed."

The dark haired mage chuckled.

"Not now, Hawke," the warrior exclaimed.

"Sorry," she said, "Just never met a quip that I didn't like."

The dwarf snorted.

"Hey blondie," he shouted, "Take a look at this elf's arm, she needs your special touch."

"I'm coming Varric," a voice answered, followed by footsteps, "I'm…"

The man froze in front of Lyna, his eyes widened, his mouth dropped open.

Hers did the same.

"Lyna," he almost gasped.

She was left speechless for a moment. She had never expected to see this man again, never.

"Anders?" she murmured.

The mage, he looked a little slimmer than she remembered, not to mention dirtier, but it clearly was Anders. The same blue coat with the feather pauldrons, same blonde hair, though it was longer and dirtier than it had ever been during his days in the keep, but that did not change the fact that it was him.

It was Anders.

The mage smiled slightly.

"Lyna," he said, "I…I never expected to see you again."

The dwarf with the crossbow gave him an arched look.

"You know this gal, Blondie?"

Anders smiled.

"Yes…I…"

He never got to finish.

Anger flashed in Lyna's eyes, she lashed out with her wounded arm, striking him with a punch that would have felled a hurlock.

The mage's jaw clicked, he spun around and fell flat on the stones unconscious.

Both the guard and her dwarven companion looked on in disbelief.

"Damn," Lyna hissed, now that the rage had ended she became acutely aware of physical pain, she shook her fist, thinking she might have just broken her hand.

"Shit," she spat.

Anders' dwarven friend did something then that she did not quite expect.

He chuckled and sheathed his crossbow.

"Yup," the dwarf said, "You definitely know Blondie already.

Lyna looked down at the groaning mage.

She shook her damaged hand. She probably should have waited until he had healed her to strike him, but she could not help it.

If he had been hiding here in Kirkwall the whole time…?

Her ears lowered in anger, as she grumbled under her breath.

He had deserved that, she thought.

"Bastard."


	16. Reunions

**Chapter 16: Reunions**

Lyna Mahariel was rarely surprised.

The Dalish warden had seen much in her short life. The coming of the Blight and her rule in Amaranthine had showed her many things that she had not expected to see.

She had stood her ground against a tainted god. She had travelled into the darkest corners of the deep roads and seen the horrors that hid within those shadows. She had slain tyrants and monsters both, and she had watched as an old friend had vanished into something she saw as her damnation.

Yes, it was a rare thing that could surprise Lyna Mahariel, even Anders' presence in Kirkwall had not been that shocking. She knew that people fleeing the city of Amaranthine had often taken ship across the waking sea to Kirkwall. The fact that one of her fellow wardens had done the same was not so far-fetched.

Anders had said little since she had struck him, which was perhaps a good thing. She was still too angry to talk, and the pain of her wounds only made her more irritable.

 _How could he do it?_ She thought with an angry snort.

 _How could he just abandon us like that?_

 _How could he just abandon me?!_

She knew that there would need to be a reckoning sooner or later. She needed to speak with him in private, but for now, she would be happy to get off the street before anyone else tried to attack them.

The mage woman, the one they called Hawke led them up into the area of the city that the Kirkwallers called Lowtown. Lyna's nose wrinkled at the sight of the place. It made some of the slums in the city of Amaranthine look almost paradise-like in comparison. The few toughs they passed gave Hawke and her allies a wide berth.

Apparently the woman had some kind of reputation in this city, her friend Varric had been more than happy to mention that to them as they made their way up the steps.

Lyna shook her head.

She was still not sure what to make of all this. Part of her started to wonder if she had made a mistake beginning this journey. Everywhere she had gone since leaving the Vigil she had been attacked. She had made enemies she had not even realized that she had, and now, that she was no longer safe behind the Vigil's walls they were trying to collect her, for reasons that even she did not entirely understand.

The warden sighed.

So much for keeping a low profile, she had hoped to drift in and out of the civilized parts of Thedas, a shadow that few would notice. Such an existence would have made her search so much easier.

Her elven ears lowered slightly.

She had underestimated the number of enemies she had made in the last few years, of the eyes that watched her, the ears that marked her steps, and now…her miscalculation would likely result in the death of someone she had come to call friend.

Royce was in a daze. Hawke's magic had healed him, but it was clear that he would need a bit of rest before they would be able to continue on with their journey. Esme and the guard woman Aveline helped him up the stairs and down the street. Bok and the animals brought up the rear, protecting them from any enemy who might try to take advantage of their weakened state. Kierhen stayed close to Findel, making sure the boy had no further magical outbursts.

Lyna pursed her lips.

She could still hear Findel's wailing cries; see the fire lighting up his eyes. For a moment he had been lost to his own magic, she did not need to be a mage to know how dangerous that could be.

She was starting to wonder if bringing the boy along had been a good idea. He was powerful, make no mistake. Kierhen had been right about that at least, but without proper instruction…

She shook her head.

Such power could be quite dangerous.

Hawke turned the corner, bringing them up to the entrance of a very noisy establishment, even with the hard stone walls; she could hear boisterous laughter and voices coming through the small windows. The sign over the entrance said: The Hanged Man.

The warden pursed her lips.

Another tavern, she should have known.

Next to her, Hawke's dwarven ally chuckled.

"It isn't the Hightown Inn," he said, "But if you're looking to stay out of sight and get a hot meal in your belly it isn't bad."

Lyna sniffed.

She did not think eating or drinking anything in this place was a good idea, if the smell was any clue.

Hawke led them inside. The tavern was busy tonight, card games taking place at most tables while servers wove their way through the swirling crowd. The bar was packed with people while a tough looking tender brought drinks to all who had placed coin on the rough hard surface.

"We can bring your friend up here," she heard Hawke say over the din. The mage was pointing to a staircase in the back.

"He can rest in Varric's room, at least until he gets his strength back."

Aveline and Esme helped Royce up the stairs while Varric followed them pulling out his key. If the dwarf was annoyed at Hawke's presumption he made no mention of it. Lyna was quickly beginning to understand just how loyal Hawke's circle of friends really was.

She had to admit, she was impressed.

At first glance, one would look at Hawke and see just another outlaw. She might have been friends with the Captain of the Guard but that did not make her any paragon of justice. Lyna had known several corrupt guard officers in her time, her few visits to the city of Amaranthine and Denerim had quickly established her views of corruption in the shemlen world. She had developed a perception of what to expect the moment she stepped into a shemlen city.

Hawke and her friends did not fit those perceptions.

Hawke had helped them with little thought of reward that was unusual to say the least, though she had mentioned the slavers that attacked them had had a bounty on their heads. As far as Lyna was concern the mage and her friends were welcome to it, despite what Bok might say. She owed them something for saving her life after all.

It was the least she could do to repay that debt.

Once they had gotten Royce settled in, the group returned downstairs. Esme had promised to sit with him, to watch over him while he slept. Arrow and Lady also remained behind, along with Hawke's Mabari, the noise and the smell of the Hanged Man did little for a warhound's senses, much less a wild wolf's.

A group of tough vacated their table when they saw Hawke and Varric approaching. Once again, the mage's reputation was making things easy for them.

One of the servers came over and took their drink orders. Hawke suggested the ale; it was the safest thing one could get in Lowtown. While they waited Hawke gave them a head's up of what was going on here in Kirkwall lately…

Lyna sighed, what she was hearing did not bode well for their mission.

Kirkwall was a city in chaos right now.

A small Qunari army was camped in a small compound on the docks, their intentions unknown. Tensions between the mages and the Templars were high. A killer wandered the streets preying on women, and city's rulers were unable to quell the violence that haunted even the streets of Hightown.

Lyna's ears twitched. She had hoped that Kirkwall would have given them a chance to catch their breaths. They had fled Orlais so quickly, now it seemed they had jumped out of the frying pan and into yet another fire.

Still, the warden refused to let herself be distracted, she had come here for a reason to find the Black Emporium.

She would not abandon that goal.

Hawke, as it turned out, could aid her with that, she had an open invitation from Xenon, the Antiquarian. She said she would not risk Darktown and the sewers after nightfall, but once the sun came up, she would be able to bring the warden before the old merchant.

Hawke chuckled.

"I would advise you to be careful when you meet with old Xenon," the mage said, "He is a bit of an acquired taste, though his merchandise is prime."

Lyna nodded, she had dealt with difficult merchants before.

Hawke looked up every time the door opened. Her blue eyes held a sense of longing in them. Lyna glanced down at the dwarf, Varric, who chuckled.

"Hawke's waiting for her broody elf," he murmured, "They have kind of a thing going."

The mage shot her friend a dirty look.

"What," he said with a shrug.

The mage rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Clearly she was not pleased with the dwarf's take on the situation, but she did not deny it either.

Lyna smiled slightly.

She knew a thing or two about wanting someone who was not very good for her.

The rest of her group seemed to settle in as best they could. Kierhen took a seat in the corner, smoking his pipe. Findel stayed close to Lyna, no doubt suffering a bit of claustrophobia being around so many shemlen. Lyna had felt the same the first time she had stepped into a lowborn tavern.

It was the smell, she remembered. It had really bothered her at first, over the years she had gotten used to it, she barely noticed the smell anymore, but the memory of those early encounters remained.

Findel would have to learn to adapt, just as she had.

The only member of their group who seemed completely at peace here was Bok. The former Highwayman was as happy as a pig in slop. He fit in easily with the rough customers that chose to make the Hanged Man their stomping grounds.

Lyna did not relax, her eyes darting from tough to tough. Many of these men had the look of bounty hunters about them, if they knew about the price on her head…things might get messy. Creator's knew; if Hawke knew about the bounty, things might get messy.

The mage seemed like an alright sort, but it was like Mistress Woolsey had always said…

 _Gold corrupts the most resolute soul._

Eventually the conversation turned to Anders. The mage had chosen not to join them at the Hanged Man. He had returned to his home in Darktown, looking for a salve to help his bruised jaw.

Lyna shook her hand again. Her knuckles were still sore, even with Hawke's healing magic.

Damn Anders, and damn her temper, she thought.

Hawke told them a bit of how she had first made the mage's acquaintance, about the death of his friend Karl. Lyna shook her head.

Had she known that one of Anders' friends was in trouble, she would have helped him. He was a fellow warden, a brother. He had not needed to go off on his own.

She asked Hawke if she knew anything about what had happened the night Anders had left Amaranthine, had he told them anything about that.

Hawke shifted uncomfortable, Anders had never spoken about what had happened, but it was clear that the mage was hiding something, Lyna could almost smell it.

It made the talk she intended to have with Anders that much more necessary. She needed to know what had happened. Why he had fled so quickly, and what had happened to Justice?

Justice had been her friend too.

She wanted to know what had happened to him.

The door to the _Hanged Man_ opened again, Hawke glanced up.

The mage smiled.

"Over here, Bela!" she called out, "Come meet some people!"

Two women pushed through the crowd. The first one seemed familiar to her, though she could not quite remember where they had met. The woman following moved behind a crowd of customers so Lyna had not managed to get a good look at her.

The first woman swaggered up to their table. She was dark skinned with his thigh-high boots and a shift that only just covered her generous form.

The dark woman chuckled.

"New friends, Hawke," she said with a smirk, "Hope they are a little more fun than our chantry boy archer."

Hawke chuckled.

"Sebastian isn't that bad, he…"

"He is a prude," the woman she called Bela added, "he won't even…"

The dark skinned woman paused.

Her eyes fell on Lyna.

She smiled brightly.

"Well, well," she cooed, "Isn't this a surprise, hello again, warden."

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

"Forgive me," she said, "But I can't quite remember you."

Bela chuckled.

"Oh I'm hurt," she said with a fake pout, "True we only met briefly, but I tend to leave an impression.

She stepped back and curtseyed.

"I'm Isabela," she said, "Formerly, Captain Isabela, though without a ship that title rings a little hollow."

Lyna's ears twitched.

Isabela? Yes, she remembered now, that fight in the Pearl! The card player.

"You're Zevran's friend," the warden said.

Isabela smirked.

"I would prefer that people think him _my_ friend, but at least I jogged your memory."

She gave her a sly smile.

"If you would like later, I could give you something more…personal to remember me by."

Lyna rolled her eyes.

Yup, the woman was definitely Zev's friend.

She called over her shoulder.

"Come here kitten," he said, "there is someone I want you to meet. She is one of yours, I think."

Lyna's ears twitched again.

 _One of yours?_

A slender figure made her way through the crowd, carrying two pints of ale. A large mercenary nearly blundered into her, but stopped when a jolt of electricity shot from the woman's finger. The man yelped and got out of the way. A few of his friend's chuckled, it was the man's first time in the Hanged Man.

Those who had spent any time here knew enough to get out of the slender woman's way. Nothing happened to her of course because she was one of Hawke's circle of friends.

No one messed with Hawke's gang here in the Hanged Man.

"So many people tonight," the newcomer murmured, "How do they expect anyone to get around in here, Creators' know I…"

She came face to face with Lyna.

Both women's jaws dropped, the two pints almost hit the floor, and would have had Isabela not quickly caught them.

Lyna stared with disbelief.

The new comer was Dalish; the tattoos were proof enough of that. Her leathers were clearly clan made. A long Dalish made mage staff was strapped to her back, her short black hair was done up in tiny braids. Large green elvhen eyes widened with disbelief.

The woman she had heard called Kitten swallowed hard.

"La…Lyna?" she said in a tiny voice.

The warden shook her head, refusing to be dumbstruck.

It seemed this was a day for reunions, not necessarily pleasant ones either.

"Andaran atish'an, Merrill," she said crossing her arms, "It has been a long time."

The First of the Sabrae clan tilted her head.

Lyna's eyes narrowed.

Here it comes, she thought.

Merrill was a cold bitch, she always had been, and she had never been a friend to Lyna. The warden fully expected some cold lecture about not trying to contact the clan, how she had not returned even to visit when the Blight ended.

Merrill had always found some way to find fault, it was her nature. She…

Merrill squealed like a happy da'len and threw her arms around the warden. She was giggling and crying at the same time, at least Lyna thought she was. Words came out of the First's mouth in a rush, words so fast that the warden could not understand them. She could not even tell if they were Dalish or in the Shemlen tongue.

So great was Merrill's joy at seeing her.

Lyna stood there…dumbfounded. Hawke and her friends watched the scene with amused smiled. Lyna' own companions looked confused…

They were not as confused as the warden was however.

Merrill had never been this nice to her before, Creators knew, she had never been nice…period.

Lyna Mahariel was not easily surprised, but this…this surprised her.

This is _not_ Merrill, a little voice in the back of her head said.

 **What in the name of the Creators is going on?!**


	17. Watch over Me

**Chapter 17: Watch over Me**

"Sister?"

Aveline's voice woke Esme out of the almost trance-like state she had been in. She had been sitting beside Royce's bedside, listening as his breathing slowed and became more even…

…It was a good sound, she thought, a calming sound.

In time, the warrior would make a full recovery.

The sister rubbed her eyes, the sights and sounds of the Hanged Man once again invaded her senses. This was not the kindest place she had ever been in, but it was also not the worst. She had seen some very bad places on her way to Orlais from Ferelden…

Some of those places would make the bar in which she now found herself look like a paradise.

She glanced up at the warrior woman, the Guard Captain of Kirkwall stood in the doorway, her cool eyes taking in all that was before her. Esme had seen such distance before from some of the Templars in the Circle Tower, the men and women who could look so distant were either some of the order's finest, or the biggest bullies in the tower.

Considering the compassion that Hawke had showed them on the docks, Esme was willing to guess the former of the brave warrior.

Captain Aveline did not strike her as a bully.

"How is he doing," she asked, "Your friend?"

Esme sighed and shook her head.

"He lost a lot of blood," she said, "He will need food and rest before we can strike out again."

The Guard Captain chuckled.

"Rest, he will be able to find here, food well…"

Aveline shook her head.

"Food in the Hanged Man is something of an acquired taste... Hopefully, your friend will not need to be here long enough to acquire it."

Esme smiled with amusement, as the guard captain made her way over to where she sat, the warrior woman sat down at one of the chairs at Varric's table.

For a moment the two women sat in a comfortable silence, only the sound of the bar down below, and the gentle breathing of the sleeping warrior lying on the bed.

Esme sighed.

She realized that she was being rude.

"Thank you," she murmured, "Your kindness is most appreciated, as are Master Varric and Lady Hawke's. A million blessings upon you for aiding us as you did."

Aveline snorted.

"No, blessings are necessary, sister," she said, "dealing with slavers is a duty of mine and as for Varric and Hawke…"

The guard captain smiled.

"The reward money is all they need."

Esme pursed her lips; the guard captain's friends did not seem as…mercenary as she made them sound. In fact, the sister suspected that both the mage and the dwarf possessed good souls. How else could you explain how they swooped in at the group's hour of greatest need?

Royce groaned in his sleep, Esme turned, her expression thoughtful, the warrior did not seem to be in any pain, but…

She pursed her lips.

It was Royce who had saved her in her village. It was Royce that had given her the courage to stay. There were moments that she feared that she had no place among their group. Lyna, Bok, Kierhen, even Findel had abilities that made them powerful, warriors on the cusp of becoming legends…

Esme was not any of these things…she was simply…her.

She frowned slightly.

She was no longer sure if simply being her was enough.

She gently stroked Royce's cheek; she cooed softly trying to calm him. She did not know if he could hear her, but the least she could do was offer both compassion and comfort.

It was her calling after all.

"Have you been with your friends long?"

She looked up, and blushed, in her concern for Royce she had forgotten briefly that Aveline was even here.

It was strange how the mind can play tricks on a person.

"I've been with the company only a short time," she admitted, before that I was a humble sister in a small village in Orlais, before that I worked in the Circle Tower of Ferelden."

Aveline nodded.

"I was wondering about that," the guard captain said.

"About what," Esme asked.

The warrior woman sighed.

"I was married to a Templar," she began, "Wesley always used to say that you can tell priests and Templars that have spent a great deal of time around mages."

She smiled sadly.

"Unlike those who have avoided contact with mages, these seem to be drawn into the company of those who use magic; they are more comfortable there than anyone else would be."

Esme frowned.

Thinking about the tower brought back too many memories of Aubrey, of what the Knight-Commander had taken from him, what she had been unable to prevent.

She shook her head; she had no desire to speak about the tower, about what she had lost. The Guard Captain meant well, but it was none of her concern.

"Does your husband approve of you associating with a mage and her crew," she asked, "I can't imagine he is most pleased with that?"

Aveline looked away, a pained expression on her face.

"Wesley did not accompany me here to Kirkwall," she said.

"Oh," Esme said, "Is he assigned elsewhere? I know that can be hard when…"

The pained expression on Aveline's face made the sister realize the truth.

She winced at the sudden realization.

Oh Maker, she thought.

I am a fool.

"I…um…I'm sorry," she stammered, "I…I did not mean…"

Aveline waved her hand dismissively.

"Wesley is gone," she said flatly, "The Blight sickness took him, and there was nothing I could do…"

She shook her head.

"I dealt with that pain long ago."

Esme shook her head.

She felt like an insensitive fool. How many Fereldans had lost loved ones to the darkspawn? Should it have come as any surprise that the Guard Captain might have been one of them?

"I'm sorry," she murmured again.

She felt like a complete and utter fool.

Aveline sighed.

"I've been trying to move on," she admitted, "But it is not easy, too much has happened. I…I'm starting to wonder if I will ever move on, or if my ability to feel that way again is lost."

She shook her head.

"He deserves better than that."

Esme gave her an arched look.

"He who?" she inquired.

The Guard Captain blushed scarlet.

"A good man who deserves better than me," she said, "Let us leave it at that."

Aveline shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Esme wished that she could think of some words that would help the woman find peace, but in that moment, her mind remained blank.

Comfort was not easy to come by in this world.

She knew that from experience.

Then she thought of Aubrey, he had never given up, not even at the very end.

She frowned.

She would not dishonor his memory by abandoning hope.

She smiled.

"You should not give up on love, Guard Captain," she said softly, "It is worth the risk. Even if it does not work out, you will be better for the attempt."

Aveline's eyes narrowed.

"Even if the attempt rips my heart out?" she demanded.

Esme shrugged.

"At least then you will know," the sister continued, "At least you will be able to heal in time."

She gave the warrior woman a sad smile.

"Trust me, 'what if' is one of the hardest things to live with it. Don't let love turn into 'what if.'

Aveline pursed her lips, her brow furrowed with thought, when it was over, she smiled slightly.

"You sound like you are speaking from experience."

"Not really," Esme shrugged, "I joined the chantry at a young age. There was no time for romance, not for me."

"Really," Aveline said, she sounded genuinely surprised, "I…I assumed you and your friend were…"

Esme blinked. She looked down at Royce and back up at Aveline, at Royce and then Aveline.

She…she…

Oh Maker!

She blushed pure scarlet.

"I…um…uh…no," she said suppressing a nervous giggled.

"No what?" Aveline asked.

Esme's blush intensified.

"Royce and I…we…um…were not…not…well…not that way."

"Oh," Aveline said, "Considering your reaction to his being injured. I just thought…"

Esme looked down, afraid to meet the other woman's gaze.

Part of her wished there was some hole that she might crawl into…that would have been nice.

Much better than sitting here, that was for certain.

"Royce saved my life," she informed the guard captain. "I owe him a great debt, one that I likely will never be able to repay."

She shook her head.

"He is my shining knight, but…I took vows. I made a promise."

She sighed sadly.

"I can never have…that."

Aveline gave her a sad look.

"I'm sorry sister. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

Esme shook her head.

"You did nothing," she informed the warrior woman, "I am merely…I'm simply trying to…"

Esme found that she had no words to describe how she felt at that moment.

She swallowed hard.

When Aubrey had been taken to the Circle she had not hesitated. He was her brother, her twin, her other half.

The thought of being separated from him, at the time, it was almost more than she could bear. She had not hesitated, she had not even thought twice. Only through the chantry had she any chance of remaining close to her brother. What she was giving up by taking the vows of a sister, she had not given it a single thought.

Now that Aubrey was gone…now that he was lost to her.

She wondered if she had made a mistake, not that it mattered. What was done was done.

She would not betray her vows.

She looked down at Royce, her brave warrior, her shining knight.

For a brief moment she felt a flash of anger and self-pity. She felt…regret.

It was more painful than any blade or arrow.

She shivered, but at the same time she steeled her heart.

She had made a choice, now she had to live with it.

It was her duty, her calling.

She would not abandon it. She couldn't.

She steeled her courage, burying the pain in her heart.

I made my choice, she thought.

For Aubrey, I made it.

She took a cleansing breath.

Now…she had to live with it.

…No matter what.

IOI

Esme was grateful when Aveline had finally left her side, she did not mean to seem ungrateful, but the Guard Captain had brought up some rather uncomfortable emotions.

The sister sighed.

It was better that those thoughts stayed buried.

A few moments after she had left, Lyna came to join her. Their leader was understandably concerned for Royce's health. Esme was pleased to report that they need not worry.

By morning, Royce she believed would be able to move.

Lyna nodded, she said that she hoped so. In the morning Hawke had promised to bring them to the Black Emporium, a place that was more than a simple store, if the apostate was to be believed.

The Dalish frowned.

Everyone would need to be at their best, that included Esme.

She gave the sister a small smile, and offered to sit with Royce for a while. The sister needed her rest too.

Esme declined, she was quite used to staying up for long periods of time. The vigils she had performed at the Chantry were nothing compared what she was doing now.

The warden nodded.

She accepted the sister's words, at least, for now, though she still advised that Esme at least try and get some rest.

They had a big day coming tomorrow.

They would all need to be at their best.

Esme nodded, and offered a quick silent prayer.

She prayed that the Maker give them strength. They might need it tomorrow.

That and that he might watch over them.

After all, wasn't that what everyone deserved…

…Someone to watch over them.


	18. The Antiquarian's Deal

**Chapter 18: The Antiquarian's Deal**

Lyna led her group over the rough and rocky terrain. The Dalish paused every so often, just to make sure that they weren't being followed. It might have seemed overly cautions, but since she had left the Vigil nothing had seemed to go as she expected.

Arrow and Lady scouted ahead, while Kierhen took up the rear. Bok and Royce stayed close to Sister Esme and Findel, the two acted as guards, just in case the Free Marches turned out to be as dangerous as that Hawke girl said they were.

The warden frowned.

Soon they would be in the thick of it. This was their little group's first mission together. She hoped that they would return victorious, and that they would be able to deal with this matter quickly and return to Kirkwall unscathed.

Unfortunately she was not that much of an optimist.

Her luck did not run that way.

She glanced back at her companions. She was still not entirely sure what she was leading them into.

Lyn pursed her lips.

She seriously doubted that this would all go down easy.

She felt as she had during the Blight, lost. Those feelings had faded with time and with experience. She had come to know Ferelden very well during her travels during the Blight and her brief time as warden commander. The Free Marches, Orlais, these places did not have the same feel as the world she had grown accustom to.

For a brief moment, she questioned her decision to take up this journey in the first place. She had planned to travel in secret, to move outside the view of the world and the powerful that ruled it. Yet since leaving her post, all she had found were eyes watching her, and plots and schemes swirling around her.

Her brow furrowed.

She had never meant this journey to be the chore it was turning into. The others had been helpful, but part of her feared that she was leading them down a path that none would return from.

Her elven ears drooped slightly at the thought.

Lyna looked back at her companions. They all knew that they had no obligation to go any further on this journey then they chose to. Bok was here for profit. Royce stayed out of a sense of loyalty to her former station. Findel and Sister Esme had nowhere else to go. Kierhen was…

She pursed her lips.

She was still not entirely sure why Kierhen had decided to stay. They had now moved far beyond the places he knew, and yet he still insisted to remain.

She sighed and shook her head.

Despite their motivations their reasons for joining her, these were good people. She had been around enough bad ones during her time in Amaranthine to recognize the difference. She had no desire to see any of them suffer and die, and yet she feared that was exactly what might happen if they stayed with her, too many were now aware that she was out here. It was only a matter of time until someone caught up with them.

She had thought she was done leading others into danger and death, this quest was supposed to be hers and hers alone, yet if she had not taken on allies; this trip likely would have ended before she had left the Dirth. She would have been dead or dragged back to one of her mysterious enemies, and Creators only knew what would have happened to her then.

She had been trying to save those she cared about. She had been trying **help** them. Nathaniel, Oghren, Sigrun, and Alistair…

She felt a shudder go through her frame.

She had lost one man she had loved to the taint; she had no desire to lose another. It did not matter that they were driven apart by their various duties. Lyna knew how she felt.

She would never abandon someone she loved, not if there was the smallest chance of making their life better.

Alistair deserved better than the calling. He deserved better than to die in some dark hole surrounded by darkspawn corpses. When his end came, she wished that it would be peaceful, perhaps from extreme old age, surrounded by friends and loved ones, that he would find peace under his god's sky, and bright golden sun.

She took a deep breath and centered herself.

This journey was not about her, it was about them, the people that she loved.

She would be damned before she let them suffer needlessly.

"Is everything alright warden?"

Sister Esme made her way over a large hill, using her staff to find her balance as she moved over a large gray stone. Royce remained behind her should she have fallen. Perhaps part of him actually hoped that she would, Lyna thought. It would give the man a chance to hold the sister in his arms.

She smiled at the thought. Esme would have probably turned scarlet had she heard what she just been thinking, Royce might have denied it, but then again…he might not have.

Esme sighed with relief as she found her footing. A gentle breeze tussled the sister's dark hair, and ruffled the fur collar of her travelling cloak. Her eyes radiated a concern that could only come from someone who dedicated their life to helping others.

Lyna appreciated that, but it really was unnecessary.

She had survived far worse than a few dark thoughts.

"I'm fine," Lyna sighed, as the sister came to stand at her side.

The Dalish smirked at her.

"I'm just trying to figure out how I managed to get myself into this mess."

Esme smiled slightly, clearly seeing at least some of the amusement that the Dalish felt.

"I suspect that such tasks are common place for you?"

Lyna snorted at that.

"You have no idea sister," she said rolling her eyes.

"It seems like this kind of thing is all I ever do."

IOI

Hawke had been true to her word. The day after Royce had finally recovered; the group had set out for the Black Emporium. The mage, as it turns out, did have an open invitation from Xenon the Antiquarian. Hawke had done business with the being several times before, and insisted that she was more than happy to make an introduction.

Though she was grateful for the help, the Dalish now found that she had other questions, not just about Hawke but the rest of her companions. Finding out that Merrill had left the clan came as a bit of a shock to her. For as long as she could remember, all Merrill had ever talked about was the honor and burden that it was to be Keeper Marethari's first. There had clearly been some falling out between Marethari and Merrill, but Hawke did not know the details. Whatever had happened, Merrill now resided in the Kirkwall Alienage, venturing out with Hawke and her companions for coin.

Anders had all but vanished after that first night in the Hanged Man. Clearly, her old friend and fellow warden was avoiding her. She had asked Hawke to take her down to the clinic that he had opened to help the refugees of Darktown, but when they arrived they found the place empty, the lantern doused, and protective spells used to seal the door.

Lyna reached out with her warden senses, trying to feel if he was hiding inside, but that search came up negative. Anders was clearly not home, and considering that she could not even sense his presence, it was clear that he was nowhere nearby.

Hawke tried to apologize for his rudeness, Lyna dismissed it with a wave of her hand. She knew how stubborn Anders could be when he wanted to.

She had so many questions. Before she left Kirkwall, she was determined to have a sit down with Anders, find out what happened the day he had fled Amaranthine, and more importantly, what happened to those Templars and Justice.

Anders was the only one who had been there when all that had gone down. Only he could tell her what had occurred,

And she intended to make sure that he did.

As for her current mission, she was bound and determined to learn everything that Xenon the Antiquarian had told Brother Marcelle when he had visited Kirkwall years ago. Anything the strange being knew about the blight, and the darkspawn in general had to be investigated.

When she and Hawke had finally reached the Emporium, Lyna had almost been shocked speechless. Xenon was like no other creature she had seen before, and she had seen many strange beings in her travels. For starters she could barely tell the difference between the Antiquarian and his chair. The ancient scholar almost seemed to have bonded with it. His body, so old and wizened barely moved as Lyna and Hawke approached him.

When Xenon finally spoke, his voice had a certain disembodied sound to it, it seemed to both emerge from him, and from all around them at the same time. All around the Antiquarian sat displays of both the wares he had to sell, and the various ornaments and knick-knacks he had picked up during his very long life.

When she tried to approach him, a large golem stepped out of the shadows and warned her back. Hawke said that she should not be insulted by the creature's reaction. Thaddeus, as she called the golem, did that to all first time visitors to the emporium.

Xenon grew extremely interested in her when he learned who she was. He had never gotten to meet a Blight Queller before, most died in the act of killing an Archdemon.

He was curious of just how she managed that.

Lyna had responded as politely as possible. She insisted that her survival was a warden secret, and needed to remain that way for the good of Thedas. Whether the Antiquarian believed her or not was not readily clear.

He insisted that he would discover what happened one day, if he had anything these days, it was time to spare.

Lyna frowned.

If ending up like Xenon was the price of immortality…well she would happily stick to her taint shortened life.

A life she hoped to save her fellows from…if she could.

She asked Xenon about Brother Marcelle, surprisingly enough, the being remembered the Orlesian, he had been…impressed with the man's curiosity, and his willingness to probe into what most grey wardens would consider forbidden matters.

According to the Antiquarian, Marcelle had paid handsomely for the right to copy several manuscripts that were not a part of Xenon's private collection. Xenon was willing to offer her copies of her own in exchange for two small items.

Lyna, who had spent a lot of time in noble circles, tried to probe the Antiquarian's desires before she said yes to anything. If ruling Amaranthine had taught her anything, it was never say yes to a deal too quickly, the price sometimes outweighed any possible reward.

Xenon chuckled at her attempts to be political, or maybe he was having a coughing fit.

It was hard to tell with the strange being.

It was unlikely that Lyna or her friends could pay the price for the items she wished for in gold; Xenon acknowledged that, however, he was more than happy to trade. The information in the manuscripts was quite hard to come by.

He required payment, as equally hard to acquire. Though it would not be hard given Lyna's skills and abilities, or so the Antiquarian insisted.

Finally, she submitted to his wishes.

It would be a trade for the manuscripts.

Xenon was extremely pleased to hear that.

Before she could say no, he revealed his terms.

The first item was simple yet surprising. A locke of Lyna's hair. The warden felt it was a bit on the creepy side, not to mention stalkerish. Xenon assured her that it was nothing menacing. There were collectors who desired to possess anything dealing with the Hero of Ferelden and the Fifth Blight.

A single lock of hair would cover half the asking price for what the warden wanted.

The second half of the deal with a bit more complicated, possibly dangerous too, and like other dealings the warden had been involved with in the past, and it began with a single phrase.

" _I hhhhhaaaave ahhhh tassssssk for you,"_ Xenon almost purred.

The warden had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

 _Why not ask me to get something for you_ , she thought.

 _Everybody else does._

The warden sighed.

It seemed like the ' _Lyna Mahariel service of doing random shit for the Rich and Powerful'_ was open for business again.

She nodded her acceptance of the deal.

A small boy, a street urchin really walked up behind Lyna and snipped off some of her hair with large silver sheers, it was all she could do to keep from drawing her weapon, had Hawke not been there she might have actually done it, golem or no golem standing by to squash her like an over ripe melon.

She took a deep breath and tried to cool her temper.

"Okay messere," she said calmly.

"What do you need me to do?"


End file.
